


fever dream

by loverloser



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1980s, Falling In Love, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Minor Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Minor Bill Denbrough/Mike Hanlon, POV Alternating, Switching timelines, Virtual Reality, it picks up after the first chapter i swear, san junipero au, they're all adults
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:29:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 29,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25413961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loverloser/pseuds/loverloser
Summary: "Hey, go along with everything I say. My name's Richie."in 1987, the air feels a little cooler. but in the present day, san junipero is the hot new toy that others can’t wait to get their hands on. with the ability to buy into virtual reality, anybody can be anyone. eddie kaspbrak decides he can finally be himself, but only if he meets someone else along the way.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 5
Kudos: 16
Collections: Richie/Eddie Bigbang 2019





	1. i.

**Author's Note:**

> hi, this is my piece for the [reddie bigbang](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/reddiebang19)! this was so much fun to work on, but couldn't do it without my wonderful friend and artist [max](http://kinghanscom.tumblr.com) and [their perfect art](https://kinghanscom.tumblr.com/post/624211758012366848/they-say-in-heaven-love-comes-first-well-make). here's a little [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6MjQUgetiV5JqFOQ6BnzVu?si=E32HhRBiQxC2bIthD-L5RA) for this bad boy. this one's for all the yearning gay people of the world.

1987, a year to be remembered. Eddie Kaspbrak was 24, fresh off the boat, and _alive_. 

24 years old, unstable, unhappy, and unable to change, he had made his first plunge into the deep end.

San Junipero was a place where his dreams could be his reality, or so he heard. There was too much to enjoy, too much to soak in, and yet, Eddie felt like he was black and white among a sea of color - invisible. Never one to shy away from things, he there was something empty there that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. The people he saw were dressed from head to toe in shimmer and shoulder pads, and yet he was the one that stuck out like a sore thumb. Just the idea of going out and getting drunk made him want to sink into his couch and die, and if they thought the sound of the music from the bar was loud enough to change his mind… they were right. 

It was called Tucker’s. _We're going to Tucker's!_ or _hey, you wanna meet up at Tucker's?_ were the only things he ever heard from people around those parts. Tucker's sat smack in the middle of San Junipero, the bold, blue lights leading the way from the city limits sign to the broad doors. Eddie, however, hadn't been tempted. He preferred the safety of his living room, where he could simply turn on the tv and drown out the heavy beats with the sound of _the Wonder Years_. San Junipero nights were all the same: loud. Disgusting. Crowded. Exhilarating. Mind-blowing. Fun. 

Most of Eddie's life had been spent avoiding that entire scene, thinking better of himself. If San Junipero was a party town, he wouldn't be the next party boy. That town had plenty of party boys, and they seemed to all be the same. The boys Eddie crossed at the ice cream shop across the street from the beach, the boys he eyed when he picked up his pizza, and the boys he all but drooled over at the ocean… they were all the same. The kind that wouldn't shake his hand or ask his name. Obsessed with the idea of playing it safe, he spent his time sitting at the beach after sundown. By then, everybody had migrated from the streets and into Tucker's, or Lazlo's, or hell, even McNally's (the second dirtiest bar in town, he had noted) if they were feeling brave. And Eddie Kaspbrak was _not_ feeling brave.

His first encounter with the fourth kind was when he almost got hit by a car that sped past him on his first walk through town, but he knew shouting expletives wouldn’t get him anywhere. Instead, he let that Jeep fly by without even looking at him twice, muttering under his breath _how typical_ it would be if he just _fucking died_ during his first week somewhere foreign. When Eddie realized they weren’t paying attention, he dug under the surface. Naturally. Ultimately, there was nothing to find but people having a _good time._ The residents, his neighbors, seemed to spend their days partying and drinking and _dancing_ , and Eddie so badly wanted to be part of something that mattered... but this wasn’t it.

If the end of the world were coming, he wouldn’t know a thing.

His life before the beach town didn’t bother him, and near the end, he was sure that was the problem. The ability to breathe in had sunk through his skin, and after what he swore was a midlife crisis, he boldly decided it was killing him. He had finally slammed his hands on the table and given in to a desire for the first time in his life – something that made him feel good. The strain of holding back was strangling him and it had taken him longer than he would have liked to admit it. Better late than never.

The only place Eddie felt like he wasn’t being strangled by women in fruity perfume or cornered by men clad in acid-wash jeans was the beach – dark, mysterious, but never untouched. His first night, instead of unpacking or setting up the brand-new television he had gotten himself as a moving gift, he had found himself with his toes in the sand and his jeans rolled up to his calf. The music was still loud enough to blow his eardrums out, or so he thought, but it was just muffled enough for him to hear his own thoughts. They were faster, _louder_ than he remembered. The waves that seemed to call out to him seemed to be begging to be his friend, the grains of sand following their lead, and welcoming him _home_. Eddie had spent his entire life thinking that home was where the heart was until he realized that home was just a place that pulled you back in when you dared to leave.

If Eddie were to spend his days in San Junipero laid out on the sand, it would only be a matter of time until he allowed the ocean to sweep him away. He couldn’t be angry under the water, no; if he were lucky, he could open his mouth to let something out, but instead, he would breathe. Whether it be a gasp of panic or a sigh of relief would be something he would find out on his own. Under the ocean, he would finally be able to see the clarity he had been missing his entire life, letting it into his life like a beam of sunshine through the deep water. He was a normal boy, but if he sank, that would be fine by him. That could be a home. Maybe even his.

* * *

The bar was practically shaking. The walls were vibrating, and he could see his bottled Coke bounce with every heavy beat. There were others around, people there were certainly a sight to see, but Eddie found comfort in their bright outfits and quick movements. The cliché of a disco ball spinning on the ceiling, although they were well past the disco era, was among the list of things that were throwing him off. He could hear a light hum behind every song and conversation, almost robotic sounding, giving him the slight insinuation that none of this was _really_ there. But he would forget about that.

The feeling of anonymity kicked in as soon as he took his last sip of Coke, and it was only a split second before realizing that he felt like ivy against the wall, like he had been stuck and could hardly move. Despite the odds, Eddie knows the song playing, and he quickly found comfort in that. The idea of finding comfort in a bar had never struck him as a possibility with all the sweaty bodies and clothes being lost, and yet… here he was. If he could find comfort there, this could be a place he truly opened himself to an idea bigger than himself. The sea of people that surrounded him all but threatened to swallow him whole, but the closest he got was almost spilling his Coke all over the front of his shirt that he had worn _just_ for this occasion.

Between the time it took Eddie to unfurl himself from the wall in the dark and squeeze between people at the bar, loudly yelling over him and making it nearly impossible to get his second - no, third - bottle of Coke, he had made eye contact with... a stranger? _Maybe. No, a stranger._

_ooh, baby, you know what that's worth?_  
_ooh, heaven is a place on earth!_

Eddie blinked.

Interesting was a word he would use more often than not, he had come to realize, but it was easy when everybody was different. This person had an illusion of confidence but lacked skill. The dancing they were doing was just off-beat enough for Eddie to notice. But as compared to everyone else, the ones Eddie didn’t seem to care about, the ways they all presented themselves were _much_ different. Rather than a conservative presenting Eddie, who kept his hands in his pockets and eyes straight forward, these people dressed for themselves. In a beach town full of people wearing hardly anything and drinking fuzzy navels, that might be the first twinge of originality that Eddie was missing. The song he knew shut off. 

He only looked away, and before he knew it, that awful dancer was swinging his hips 20 feet in front of him found his way into Eddie's peripheral. His long, brown hair fell into his face as he spun in time to the music, and Eddie thought he might have a new favorite song. He wore glasses that threatened to slide off his nose and onto the floor, but he seemed to be skilled in the art of not allowing them to be stepped on. With a red floral shirt with what looked like only three buttons done up half-tucked into tight black shorts, he made Eddie look like… kind of a _fucking loser_. While Eddie had his Coke bottle, the other was holding an almost-empty cocktail glass in his right hand, the other hand being held by a beautiful redhead, with a toothpick that was inevitably stuck in an olive held tightly between her teeth. And Eddie just stood there, his mouth hanging wide open. 

_they say in heaven, love comes first,_  
_we'll make heaven a place on earth!_

It all felt like a cliché. Eddie wouldn’t be caught dead _swooning_ over anyone… unless this was the exception. But now, he was desperate to catch his breath, but not like his stomach was turning with nerves, instead in the way that made him feel like he was kicked in the chest. The song playing changed again.

The cool kids wanted something new, and Tucker's seemed to be full of cool kids, whatever that meant. Whatever it was, he certainly didn’t fit in, with his quick-to-judge nature and temper. The colors of the lights came and went as if they were unable to decide, flashing over his face and illuminating him in what _was_ the dark. Quickly, he slid into the booth that sat closest to him, twisting the cap off his bottle and took a nervous swig, his eyes darting around. _I do not fucking belong here._

"Hey, go along with everything I say. My name's Richie." 

Eddie practically jumped out of his seat. The voice came from his right and was followed with a warm body pressed closely against his side. That terrible dancer. He was bigger up close, Eddie noted, and quickly took in a sharp breath. It came out breathless and loud against Eddie's neck, and in response, all he could give was a loud _"What?"_

"Seriously, whatever I say, go along with it. Trust me."

Almost as if on cue, a man who couldn’t be much older than them showed his face, pushing his curly hair out of his eyes. "Rich, you have to talk to me… you can't avoid me forever." 

_Rich._ This guy may as well have come from a Duran Duran music video – he was clad in a blue button-up underneath a denim jacket and wore an ascot around his neck, one that didn’t do a very good job of covering the deep red hickeys that covered his throat. He was tall and looked at the two of them like he knew they were going to lie to him. Eddie looked up at him and leaned back in the circular booth, silently sizing this guy up. _Who the fuck is this guy?_ He puffed up his shoulders just enough to play tough, but he wasn’t sure either of them actually wanted to.

Richie extended his arm out and enveloped Eddie easily, curling his hand over his shoulder. For the first time since he had gotten there, he felt embarrassed. He could feel his cheeks heating up while he looked up at the stranger clad in a loose denim jacket, who had heaved a sigh that they could all undeniably hear over what was quite possibly the loudest music _ever_. Richie, however, seemed used to it.

"Come on, Stan, do I have to red-light you?" Richie started, shrugging. "I'm busy. This is my friend…" 

Eddie could feel Richie staring at him and spat out his name. "Eddie. We're friends."

Stan didn't even give him a second look, almost as if he was ignoring the fact that Richie wasn't alone. He shoved his hands in his pockets. "Last week, we had an amazing time together. You jumped ship." 

"Stan, I am not the same man I was 6 days ago. I have to talk to Eddie. We haven't seen each other in a month, man, I fuckin' missed him. We have a lot to catch up on."

Without a warning, Richie squeezed Eddie around his shoulder, and Eddie almost melted against him. Almost. Until that moment, he hadn’t met anyone in town, and now he was expected to act calmly? No way.

"Stan, he's sick. Like, dying sick. The doctor said he only has six months to live! You can't give a dying boy his last wish of being left the fuck alone?"

Eddie looked down at the table in front of them and took in a sharp breath, then swallowed in a last-minute effort to fix his throat that had gone dry before he chimed in. "Five. Yeah, they said it's really bad, I'm on all sorts of medication." _Jesus_ , just the sight of Richie smiling from ear to ear practically sent a chill down his spine and through his body. 

"Okay, Rich. Okay," Stan, who had since turned apologetic while holding back an eye-roll of the century, looked over at Eddie for what he thought was the first time. The dark circles underneath his eyes were apparent, now that he had moved closer to them. "I'm… _really_ sorry." Sorry for what, Eddie was unsure of. Stan had since gone quieter, now, but the three of them took the awkward silence in stride. Stan gave a sort of a half-wave to the two of them and shook his head, then turned away to leave. A pity apology was just as good as any, Eddie figured, but when Richie moved his arm from around his shoulder, it was tough for him to think about much else.

"Sorry for killing you. You know, the, uh, six months thing," Sticking his hand out for a proper handshake, Richie looked Eddie over. "Richie."

Eddie slipped his hand into Richie's and squeezed it. "Eddie," he breathed out, then repeated, louder this time. "The aforementioned Eddie.”

"You know, Stan's not a bad guy. We dated… for a week. It was cool."

"Oh, I didn’t –“

"I kind of feel bad, you know. It's like, shit happens. I mean, I met him at the Quagmire, you don't look for anything serious at the fucking Quagmire."

Eddie paused. "What's a Quagmire?"

"Shit... If you don't know already, you probably don't wanna know," Eddie finally offered him a smile at that one, and that's when Richie knew that he had won. A glance showed him that Eddie's Coke bottle had found itself empty, and Richie poked it around the table. "You want another one? Maybe… something with a little more alcohol?"

"No, I’m actually…" Eddie started, shaking his head - but still, that smile was on his face. Richie had moved out of the booth and nodded sideways toward the bar, giving him a flashy smile. By now, Eddie Kaspbrak was positively pink from head to toe, but Richie Tozier didn’t seem to even notice. The two of them both hesitated for _just_ a second before Richie took another step closer.

"What? Do I have to pull your leash or something?" 

Turns out, he didn't.

* * *

Tucker’s _,_ it turned out, was covered in _slime_. Eddie took note of that as soon as he got back up to the counter, where he had previously been ignored, and accidentally ran his hand under the bar. As soon as he touched _gum_ , he knew he was in hell. Without a second thought, he brought his hand back like he had touched a snake and rubbed his palm against Richie’s shirt like he could wipe it all away. Richie looked over his shoulder and gave Eddie a pseudo-seductive smile, raising an eyebrow performatively.

“Can’t get your hands off me, huh?” Richie began, turning toward Eddie so they stood face-to-face. Richie was head to toe in summer gear: his shirt had since been unbuttoned and left the hair on his chest exposed, eager to be seen by anyone, _anyone_ who would notice – and boy, did Eddie notice. He noticed the dips of his collarbone and the remnant of a bite mark where his broad shoulders met his neck. He noticed the earring that hung from Richie’s ear and how it reminded him of nothing his mother would wear – how fucking refreshing. Eddie noticed _everything_ , and sooner rather than later, he realized that Richie didn’t seem to be noticing anything about him in return. Part of him wanted to wave his arms in front of him and scream _Hello! Notice me! Open your eyes and see how fucking cute I can be!_

Not that there was much to see. Eddie had chosen his favorite blue shirt, a black blazer, and a pair of dark jeans that he barely fit into for the night. It wasn’t anything special, no, but what the hell was he supposed to do? Half of Eddie’s life had been spent under restrictions, whether in place by himself or someone else, so where did he start from there? If he had the stones to do so, he’d dress a little more outlandishly, spending some money. Maybe a nice ring or an expensive pair of shoes to start slow, then add in a little velvet here or there. It seemed that if he was wearing anything like that, he might be accepted. Seen. Heard.

Once he had been let inside, though, he was hit with a harsh reality. Almost everybody there was wearing _their_ best clothes, and here Eddie stood, sticking out like a sore thumb. His Converse shoes were worn and frayed and the blazer he had chosen was on the verge of not matching his pants, but until then, he was under the impression that it didn’t matter. Hell, before he even considered going in for a drink, a few someones outside had given him unwarranted advice.

“Hey, roll up your sleeves _!_ ” Eddie hadn’t even made his way to the street corner she had been standing at when he had been shouted at, and the only thing he could give in return was a scowl on first instinct.

“What?” He spat out, taking a few steps closer to her. It was hard to see who he was talking to, on account of the cigarette smoke that had just been blown into his eyes, but when the smoke cleared, Eddie could hear the unmistakable sound of spit hitting the pavement and he almost vomited. Just the idea of someone spitting in his general vicinity plagued him to the point of almost keeling over and _dying_ , but he would cut the dramatics, just this once. The redhead who put out her cigarette below the sole of her shoe, the only girl in the middle of spitting _men_ , looked Eddie up and down.

“Roll up your sleeves,” she offered him a smile now, showing no ill-intent behind what might have sounded like catcalling to someone else on the street. “It’ll make you look _cooler_.” This time, Eddie smiled back at her and made some of the most awkward eye-contact with the two men standing behind her. One wore a flannel underneath a denim jacket and blue jeans, the other in a vest and white t-shirt tucked into _another_ pair of blue jeans.

Eddie hardly even noticed when she reached out to grab his wrist and rolled up the sleeves of his blazer to his elbows. The fabric moved up his arm easily and fit snugly around his elbow, and when she moved to roll up the other sleeve, he pulled his arm back with force. “I can do it myself.”

With another smile, which, Eddie noted, she seemed to do a _lot_ , she took a step back. “You look great, tourist.”

* * *

They spent the night _dancing_. Richie had been trying to talk the bartender into drinks on the house but to no avail. He definitely was not as charming as Eddie would like to think. So instead of that, he’d been _buying_ the two of them mixed drinks and shots for the past hour and a half, and Eddie could feel himself absolutely buzzing. His movements were quick and badly paced, and no matter how many times Richie tried to match his speed or, god forbid, try to show him something, the song would change. Eddie figured it was fate – he just wasn’t meant to move like that. But this was different. Each time Richie moved closer to him, reaching for his hands or his waist, Eddie _let_ him. Being touched by Richie was like being cut open and shown for the whole world to see, on display to show everyone who he really was. More importantly, being touched by Richie was making him _sweat._

Eddie wasn’t sure when he had lost his jacket, or when Richie’s shirt had been all the way unbuttoned and fully exposing his entire upper body. Once he noticed, the music had faded into something slower – something they could really _touch_ to. The lights around the bar lightened to a soft green and the shadows cast on Richie’s face turned him into someone new.

“Can I call you Rich?” Eddie struggled to speak up over the already quiet song and settled for leaning up on his tiptoes to move in close toward him. _He’s so tall._

“You can call me Dick, for all I fucking care.” Richie matched Eddie by moving in toward him and bumped his nose against the soft skin below Eddie’s ear, then trailed his hand up to the side of his neck – just for good measure.

With his heart pounding underneath his shirt and through his chest, Eddie moved one of his arms up and around Richie’s neck, the other brazenly moving around his waist, underneath his shirt. “Rich...” he mumbled, not quite loud enough for the other to hear. “You’re so big.” That was louder now, coming out as soon as Eddie rested his hand on Richie’s shoulder, then moved down his back. “You’re like...”

“I’ve heard it all, man,” Eddie _almost_ caught Richie moving his hands away from his neck. “If you think you’re being original, good fucking luck.”

Before he could speak up, Eddie opened his eyes. A bead of sweat rolled past Richie’s glasses and down the bridge of his nose. His pale skin had since turned red, but a smile still pulled at the edges of his mouth. Richie had caught him staring at his lips and kept talking, but all Eddie could hear was _kiss me, kiss me, kiss me._ Oh, he wanted to kiss Richie more than anything. Just the idea of meeting together for a kiss felt personal, almost like a secret, right in the middle of everybody.

But there lied his problem: they were in the middle of everybody. To him, everybody was looking, and suddenly, Eddie’s chest was tight. “Do you know where my jacket is?”

Richie paused, took _just_ a second to think, but came up with nothing. “No, dude.”

“It has my fucking inhaler in the pocket, I can’t lose that,” Eddie trailed off, pulling his arms off the comfortable rest that were Richie Tozier’s broad shoulders, and shoved his hands into his jean pockets. The only things he fished out were his worn wallet, a dime, and a piece of gum – no inhaler. _Oh, shit_. Enter: panic mode. Eddie may have looked more frantic than he actually felt, but either way, Richie seemed to be a little astonished that he was on the verge of making a scene in the middle of _Tucker’s_ , of all places. For something that seemed like an inhaler-induced panic attack, he sure was thinking about being _watched_ a lot. “I should go. Uh, I had a great time, Richie. Thanks for the drinks.”

“Wait, hang on -”

Before Richie could grab his arm, Eddie had already freed himself and gave him an awkward smile, then an even stiffer pat on the arm. With that, he pushed through the same people he swore were looking at him, but no one even turned their head at him.

The outside air was crisp in his lungs, and once he figured that one out, he could fucking _breathe_. Being the center of attention was something Eddie craved, but now that he had been placed in the middle, it hadn’t turned out as good as he had hoped. Attention had been a virtue to him as he grew up, always pushing to earn it and act outlandishly with friends in order to one-up everyone else. The cost at which all eyes on him was worse than skipping out and staying home.

He hardly even paid attention when it started raining. Eddie, out in the rain without a jacket, couldn’t help but feel pathetic. The clothes he had chosen were almost immediately outshone, the music sucked, and all he wanted was to take Richie home with him. He looked at the watch on his right wrist and noted that it was almost midnight. He only had until then. The back alley was littered with trash and lined with dumpsters, and he had found himself wedged between two of them in an attempt to stay mostly dry. Right when he figured he might just stay out there forever, he heard a heavy door close to his right.

“There you are. What the fuck was that, man?” Richie let the door shut behind him and crossed his arms while standing in front of Eddie like he was trying to intimidate him, but it didn’t work. That tactic hardly ever did.

“I just had to get out of there.”

“You ran away from me,” Richie pushed his glasses higher up on his nose, letting them stick to his face with the sweat that threatened to spill down his forehead. “Whatever, dude. Your loss. Some of us like having fun around here.”

Eddie took in a deep breath and shook his head, crossing his arms tightly against his chest. _Fuck this. Fuck that. He can’t fucking play me like that. Is he playing me? Fuck him._

“I’m kidding! Half kidding.”

“Everybody was looking at us. And... I don’t even fucking know you! What were they all thinking?”

Richie looked over at Eddie from the wall he was leaning against and shrugged. “Why is that my problem, man? I was having a good time. They were all staring because you’re so fucking hot.”

Eddie had never been more thankful for low lighting, or the red tint on his cheeks would give him away. This conversation was proving to be more transparent than Eddie had anticipated; he had spent the entire five minutes without Richie drafting possible ways he could tell him off, different tactics to make him feel guilty, but now he stood to him without weapons.

“You’re stupid.” Eddie choked out a laugh.

“My college professors said the same thing _._ ” Richie cracked a smile at him, and Eddie knew he would be an idiot if he didn’t turn and meet him halfway.

“I’ve never been on a dance floor before. Ever. Not even once.” Eddie now stood not quite leaning against a wall, not quite touching the dumpster with disgusting graffiti scribbled all over it.

“Never? Like, cross your heart, hope to die never?”

“Never.”

“What are you, Amish?”

“Uh...” Eddie laughed again, but it came out _dry_. “As far as I’m concerned, my mom thinks I can’t do _anything._ ” That wasn’t a lie: Eddie’s mother often spent her time worrying and fussing over her son, and until he was twenty-one, it was normal for him. Since he was a kid, Eddie had grown accustomed to the hospital visits, the X-rays on a Saturday, and the nurses who brought him bandages. Until he got older, he was shocked to find out that not everybody’s mother did this to them when they wanted to prove their disobedience. “I’m different outside of… all of this, I swear.” Before Eddie could go into more detail, or, more importantly, stop talking, he could feel Richie’s warm hand on his waist, and he almost fell over his own feet when he was pulled closer, closer, _closer_. They didn’t have time to speak up before Richie had moved in to catch his lips against Eddie’s in a kiss. Without another thought, Eddie leaned in, but as soon as he did, he pulled back.

“Hey, come to my apartment...” Richie trailed off, already searching for another kiss. His eyes were heavy and lidded, his lips barely parted. “Come with me, man. We still have, like, two hours until midnight.”

Eddie swallowed thickly, and he was sure Richie could hear the sound of him making a choice he might regret. “You’re a really nice guy, Richie. You’re so _fucking_ … cool... But I can’t.”

Richie shrugged, obviously trying to come off as _unbothered_. “Oh…kay. It’s fine.”

“It was really great to meet you.” Eddie stuck out his hand for Richie to shake but was quickly ignored.

“Yeah. Likewise.”

Harsh.

Eddie could feel Richie’s eyes burning into his back as he walked away. While the rain came down a little harder, he caught himself walking a little faster, looking down a street he didn’t even know existed.

“Shit. Shit, shit, shit,” Eddie muttered to himself before ultimately deciding he had to do what he thought was the _right thing_ \- he wanted to turn around to look at Richie just _one_ more time. Who knows? Maybe it was the last time they would see each other, and that _kiss_ -

He closed his eyes and stopped in his tracks, then took in a deep breath. “Alright.” Again, Eddie turned on his heel after he opened his eyes, but when he looked down the alley at where he had just shared a moment Eddie could only describe as _charged_ , he was met with nothing. No one. He only saw the big, heavy door close behind what looked like just a glimpse of Richie’s bright red shirt. _One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi –_ he made his decision easily, but it took everything in him to not follow Richie back into that hellhole.

By the time he got back to his apartment and locked all the doors, it was like he was crushed under the weight of fucking up _so_ bad. The thought of going back to his own reality fell heavy on his shoulders, and all he was interested in doing was laying down.

* * *

Two weekends later, and everything was the same. Eddie Kaspbrak was still grasping for straws tied to his own real life, and Richie Tozier was still a fan of the unknown.

If Richie didn’t know what was going on, it didn’t seem to bother him - all you would hear from him would be _“just go with the flow, man, don’t be weird”. The_ people he surrounded himself every weekend were more or less the same crowd, the same faces, but the ones he didn’t recognize were his favorite. Sure, he was more or less a _party boy_ , but in San Junipero, that meant something different. Back home, he had smoked cigars and drank brown liquor. In San Junipero, he did lines of cocaine in bathrooms and did blowjob shots like it was his job. Always optimistic, Richie’s favorite music was whatever was on at the time and his favorite alcohol was whatever everybody else was drinking; he was a people pleaser. The hunt for other people’s validation was never-ending. His days in town were typically identical, but short-lived. Richie only went out on the weekends and knew to wrap things up before midnight, much to other’s dismay, but it kept him breathing.

On Fridays, he went to the Ace of Clubs. They had drag shows on Saturday that he usually skipped, but if he wanted to switch it up, someone might catch him there buying drinks and getting loud. Going to The Ace alone felt like a pristine act of elegance, but showing up with a friend usually meant they were there for a good time. When Richie was at the Ace, he dressed up a little and put on a pretty face. He used a voice that sounded like a gimmick, called himself Richard, and said he was there to drink and feel like royalty.

Saturdays were spent at the infamous Tucker’s, which was arguably his favorite spot. Sometimes he would make a friend, like Stan, other times, he’d go back at midnight empty-handed. Though Richie had met Stan at a bar a little uglier than Tucker’s, they had since migrated to somewhere they could actually talk. He and Stan were a five-hour fling who had promised each other the week before that they would meet up the next weekend and get some time “getting to know you”, Stan had told him, and god, did they get to know each other. Tucker’s was a spot for people like Stan Uris - the undeniably charismatic type, the quiet type – and Richie had gotten his bait (and maybe something else) caught in his mouth.

Sundays, if he wanted to get fucked up, was reserved for the Quagmire.

The Quagmire, Richie had decided, was the perfect place for when he wanted to get someone’s hand down the front of his pants _fast_ , or if he woke up that morning feeling like he wanted to be _wanted_ , which felt like a faraway dream. The people who went to the Quagmire on the regular were the people who were bored, and they were the first to admit it. The music was slow and eardrum-bursting, which shouldn’t go hand-in-hand, but the rules were meant to be broken there. In all honesty, it felt depressing. The bar felt like it was six feet underground and crawling with goths who wore leather harnesses, leather pants, and leather _underwear._ It wasn’t Richie’s scene, but there was no way he’d turn down a hot mouth and a heavy hand.

But that way was a Sunday, and he wasn’t begging for anything.

The people he met were all seemingly different: he’d met a woman who fell in love with her best friend and begged her to stay in town, Marge and Madge, and they’d taught him how to throw darts on his very first night. The veteran at the bar he’d struck up a conversation with called himself Tommy, but even with all the gruesome stories of combat and the tales of lost friends that he’d shared with Richie over a drink, he didn’t look a day over 25. But out of all the friends that bought him drinks and boys he had forgotten the name of, the familiar, friendly face of Beverly Marsh was one that he’d crossed every time he resurfaced. She danced at Tucker’s – unprofessionally, she said. She was funny, she was cute, and Richie loved every bit of her. When they were together, every song was _their song_ , with no exceptions.

_gimme, gimme, gimme a man after midnight,  
won't somebody help me chase the shadows away?_

_gimme, gimme, gimme a man after midnight,  
take me through the darkness to the break of the day!_

Now, they spent their short time together smoking each other’s cigarettes and talking about the end of the world. Richie had been coming to San Junipero for the past six months and made no promises to _anyone_ , but if Beverly Marsh from the Juniper apartments with the red hair and blue eyes asked him to make one, he might consider it.

Halfway across town, Eddie Kaspbrak was sitting on the edge of his couch, checking his watch every five minutes.

* * *

_gotta make a move to a town that's right for me -  
town to keep me movin', keep me groovin' with some energy!_

No, no.

Sunday night, and Eddie had been stood in front of his mirror for thirty minutes, staring at his reflection as if it would bite. What he had found in the mirror was already the second outfit he had changed into, and it wasn’t completely him – the long socks, his favorite leather Maison Margielas, denim capris that didn’t even reach his ankles and an open button-up shirt with some of the most hideous birds he had ever seen. Still, it felt a bit too familiar. All he needed was a pair of glasses that seemed to never slip down and fall victim to the underside of a shoe and fake confidence that bled through the seemingly thick skin of some guy named _Richie_.

The tape that ran in his cassette player came to a stop when he quickly pressed eject and hastily replaced it with another one.

_sweet dreams are made of this,  
who am I to disagree?_

With his back to his mirror, Eddie looked over his shoulder and pushed the pair of black sunglasses he had sitting on the tip of his nose upward. Underneath a black leather jacket, his striped tank top was almost torn to shreds, but he couldn’t be too mad if he was the one who had done it _on purpose_. But as soon as he eyed the hole that revealed his bellybutton and the thin trail of hair that led into his tight jeans, he knew this one was no good, either. Not even the combat boots he had laced way too tightly were enough to keep him in this outfit, even if it gave him an extra two and a half inches. Not that he could get them off, anyway. He’d try again.

His cassette hit the ground right after he replaced it with a new one. This one would be the one. This one would be the one to impress someone – if that’s what he was trying to do, and it absolutely wasn’t. No way was he trying to impress a _stranger_ at the _bar_.

_welcome to your life,  
there’s no turning back -_

Now, he could hear the tape spinning, and it felt like the only thing that was keeping him from feeling insane.

_acting on your best behavior –_

An old jean jacket hung in his closet. He hadn’t worn something like that since he was in college, which felt like eons ago, not even able to remember how he felt wrapped in denim. The frayed sleeves had turned a disgusting yellow color and the metal buttons were half falling off, but the fact that he had kept it hidden from himself for this long was predictable. Even throughout unpacking, he’d stuffed it to the bottom of the box he had labeled FRAGILE, using it to wrap plates.

_turn your back on mother nature –  
everybody wants to rule the world!_

The number of times he turned in circles, meeting his own gaze in the mirror just to get another glimpse of himself from another angle was embarrassing, but Eddie had done it. His jacket was light against his dark blue t-shirt but matched the color of his jeans, his white tube socks pulled up his calf underneath them. The hi-tops he wore were burning bright red with immaculate white shoelaces, but he was counting down the days until he stepped in a puddle or slipped in the mud, ruining them _and_ his mood for good. A small fear, but fear nonetheless.

God, he felt good.

* * *

Finding Richie had proven to be harder than Eddie once thought. It seemed self-explanatory to him, but apparently, there were more people in town than he remembered.

With every step down the street, Eddie took a mental note of how he’d tied his shoes just a bit too tight, and that if he didn’t slow down, his foot could fall off due to the lack of circulation. He didn’t even know if there was a hospital here, let alone if there was a hospital that would take his insurance – did his insurance even exist here? Did he _need_ insurance? What kind of people would be a doctor if everyone here spent their time doing shots and dancing around like idiots, and…

With a time limit like his, he didn’t have the parameters to stick around and act better than everybody else, especially if the same people had been… pretty nice to him. His cynicism was showing, something he swore he had just gotten over, but he could feel it leaking out of his ears. A sharp contrast to the feeling of anger, most of Eddie’s time was normally spent standing in the sun, watching the beach. Staying just barely out of reach from the others wearing cutoff shorts and no sleeves and out of sight of the people who wore close to nothing, he found himself in the perfect medium. _Filed under: things to get over ???_

After what he felt like was a lifetime of searching, there he was: Richie Tozier, wiggling and twisting and shimmying his damn shoulder pads off. Tucker’s – again. The hair on his forehead stuck flat with sweat and untouched, but almost immediately after Eddie pretended to not notice, he watched as Richie pushed it away from his eyes and out of his face. His cheeks were red as could be, matching Eddie's, but for seemingly different reasons.

As soon as Richie looked up from the haze he seemed to be stuck in, he found Eddie watching him, and he swore he could feel it. In the two weeks since they'd met, Richie could count the times on one hand he'd thought about this guy - _Eddie._ Eddie the tourist, Eddie the Coke-drinker, Eddie, the guy he kissed against the dumpster. Eddie, the guy who wore a denim jacket the same shade as Stan's. The closer he got to midnight, the better.

In an act of what seemed like defiance, Richie kept his back to Eddie for the entire song until the music died down. By then, he had grabbed the hand of the strikingly handsome man Eddie had caught him with and pulled him back through the bar before the two of them cozied up against the counter. _What a fucking idiot,_ he caught himself thinking again - something that didn't always end well. _He can do better than that. He can do so much fucking better than that, than some fucking jerk with a mullet and a spray tan_. Before he realized it, the entire label from his Coke bottle had frayed and found itself under his fingernails, leaving him with the sticky residue. Chalk it up to a bad habit.

_"So, Richie… What do you do?"_

He wasn't listening, and he wasn’t sure how obvious he could be. This guy was nice enough, but the first thing he noticed was that this dude was wearing sunglasses inside and told Richie that he reminded him of his sister. His buzz had since worn off and the sweat that once threatened to slide down the bridge of his nose had dried, leaving him feeling like he'd just run a mile, and this guy wanted to make small talk? No matter which way he turned or what he said to him ( _Spencer,_ he'd mentioned _, his name is Spencer and he's an ad marketer from New fucking York_ ), Richie could still feel a pair of brown eyes burning into the back of his neck. Eventually, Richie had yawned into the crook of his elbow and loudly suggested how exhausted he was, but _Spencer from New York_ didn't seem to get the idea, even when he'd turned his entire body in Eddie's, who had grabbed his second bottle of Coke by now, general direction. Even from across the room, Richie could see Eddie blink his big eyes at him, and _damn_ , did he feel like a cliché.

"I gotta go to the bathroom," Richie announced, leaving the empty glass that was once filled with bourbon, garnished with mint, on the counter behind him. He would never tell Eddie he noticed, but as soon as he'd made a beeline for the men's room, he knew Eddie was practically at his heels like a fucking _puppy_.

The door shut behind the two of them so slowly that Eddie would turn 100 years old before he could revel in the solace - just the two of them, Eddie and Richie, behind a closed door. The way he wanted.

"What the fuck are you doing, man?"

 _Hang on, that's not what I'm going for,_ Eddie thought. _No "I'm so happy to see you"? No "where have you been "?_

Richie had moved to position himself in front of the door and leaned against it, keeping anyone but the soft, dull thud of the music out. Eddie found himself unable to respond, only opening his mouth and raising his eyebrows in what _might_ have been shock.

"I wanted to see you."

Richie pushed his glasses up his nose. "You wanted to see me, so you fucking trailed me to Tucker's at 10 pm? I only have, like, two fucking hours left, dude, you can't just fucking follow me around like that."

 _Definitely_ not what he expected.

“What the _fuck_ are you talking about?” Eddie started, and if looks could kill, he’s not sure Richie would be standing in front of him with that _stupid_ shirt on and those _stupid_ tight denim shorts and those –

“What do you _mean_ , dude? We kissed _once_ , man, what does that mean to you?”

“I just wanted to see you,” Richie took in a heavy breath as Eddie made his admission and let the rest of his weight press back up against the door, but Eddie took a step closer. “I wanted to see you, so now I’m some kind of fucking… _idiot_? What’s your problem, Richie, you can’t even let someone like you enough to see you more than once, like whatkindofpersondoesthatIcan’tbelieveyou’re—”

“Shut _up_ , man! Are you fucking hearing yourself? Slow down.”

That knot in the pit of his stomach that Eddie had become so familiar grew as he took in a deep breath, furrowing his brow and looking up at Richie like he’d do just about anything to get him to understand. All he’d wanted all _week_ was Richie – the thought of using his time to be with someone who knew how to draw attention to themselves the way he did made Eddie want to jump off a building or wade out into the waves with a brick tied to his ankle. He wanted to grab him by the wrist and pull him close enough to taste, to ask Richie to _show him_ how to do this and how to be the kind of person he wanted to be around, but that didn’t seem to be the reality he would be facing.

But he didn’t. Eddie didn’t reach and grab his hand, or lean up to kiss him, or _apologize_ for maybe coming on too strong – if that was really happening. He didn’t pay any attention to Richie reaching into his back pocket and unwrapping a piece of gum and popping it into his mouth.

“Richie…” A pause. “I can leave. You’re right. I don’t think I should be here.”

The sound of the music through the door was muffled, but not dying down. If Eddie knew this song, he would probably find a little more comfort in this situation. Richie sighed in what sounded a lot like defeat and shook his head. “You don’t… have to fuckin’ leave, man. I just thought I wouldn’t see you again, so.”

“Is that a good thing?”

“I just… fucking set myself up for that. Like, I don’t know, I was waiting for the worst-case scenario.”

“Seeing me was the worst-case scenario?”

“ _No_ , you dipshit. _Not_ seeing you was the worst-case scenario.”

If Eddie could go back in time and agree to go back to Richie’s apartment with him, he _would_.

The familiar sweet smell of bourbon filled the heavy air of the space between them, and Eddie almost wanted to ask how much Richie had to drink. If not seeing Eddie was the worst-case scenario, what was the best? Going back to Richie’s place and pretending to make small talk about the movie posters he had up on his walls when all he wanted to do was unbutton his shirt and get his mouth all over him? Or was it skipping town in Richie’s convertible and riding off into the sunset? Maybe Eddie _was_ overstepping his boundaries, but without knowing the next step or Richie’s next move, there was no way for him to stay ahead of him – one step ahead was where he considered his happy place.

The silence really _could_ be cut with a knife. Eddie had finally given Richie a little more space before he smoothed down the front of his shirt and stuffed his hands into the deep pockets of his denim jacket, but kept his eyes up, meeting the other’s. “You have… Really pretty eyes, Rich.”

Richie flinched, taken aback by the sudden comment, but man, did he loosen up.

“Thanks, man. Grew ‘em myself. Took me, like, 25 years, but it’s even better than when your balls drop,” he paused and gave Eddie a pat on the shoulder condescendingly. “Call me when yours do, I’ll be your fuckin’ sensei or some shit.”

Eddie sighed and closed his eyes, pressing his lips into a firm line. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“Seriously, dude, it’s nothing to be embarrassed about—”

Richie had _planned_ on continuing, torturously dragging on the same joke until it was run into the ground, until he was rudely interrupted by Eddie leaning against him, eagerly moving in for a kiss. This time, the taste of alcohol was masked by the burning taste of mint, which Eddie considered to be a huge step up from the _last_ time they’d kissed, and he was sure that he would smell that graffiti’d dumpster for the rest of his life. But _now_ , in the bathroom of Tucker’s, he could finally _feel_ Richie, the same way he wanted to all night.

“So, are you mad at me, or —”

“ _Please_ , I’ll do anything if you stop talking.” Eddie took in a deep breath as soon as Richie moved his hands underneath the heavy denim of his jacket and to his waist. With another kiss, Eddie’s nose almost collided with Richie’s glasses and there was a quick moment of lips and teeth, but the only thing that seemed to matter was the sound of their breath hitching between them.

“Hey, what the _fuck_?” The sound of a voice from the other side of the door was the one thing that brought them back to reality, and even then, it was still hard to pull away. Richie was the culprit, still leaning against the door without a damn care in the world, but as soon as the door was forcibly shoved open, Eddie practically scrambled back and all but cowered against the sinks, his back to the mirrors. Richie, on the other hand, played it cool and leaned in what he thought was casually against the trash can just a few steps away.

“Hey, man,” Richie gave the other a nod upward, then looked him over. “You come here often?”

“Don’t block the door, _dick_.”

“Come on, dude, only my sister calls me Dick.”

Eddie could feel the tips of his ears burning red at the same time Richie was digging the both of them into a hole with a complete stranger, so he was eager to stand up straight and move over to elbow him sharply in the ribs. “Let me call you a cab, Richie,” he spoke up, grabbing him by the shoulder. “You’re drunk.”

As if they had practiced it before, Richie leaned in toward Eddie and shook his head, slurring his words. “Oh, _Eddie,_ those body shots really got to me, man, I can’t even see straight.”

They were out on the street before they could even count to ten. It was raining outside last week, but seemingly bone-dry tonight, with the moon hanging high in the sky. While the two of them were leaning against the building, Eddie checked his watch. It was hardly fifteen past ten, but Richie was already going on about how much time he had left and how he didn’t want to waste it. The two of them, to a stranger walking by, looked like they had been up all night.

“Richie, do you want to come to my apartment?”

The way Richie’s face turned slate grey was one for the books. With an enthusiastic _yes_ , he slipped his hands into his pockets and took a breath, and for a second, Eddie wasn’t sure if Richie was nodding or shaking his head.

“ _Uh,_ ” Richie gripped his keys inside of his pocket and fished them out. “I drive. I know, they say gay people are horrible drivers, but I definitely won’t kill you.”

Eddie almost held back a laugh, but instead, it came out.

“Holy shit, that’s the first time I’ve heard you laugh. Hold on, hold on, what are the symptoms of a heart attack?” Richie dramatically reached over and gripped Eddie’s arm, his train of thought quickly shifted gears. The feeling of muscle underneath heavy fabric was still unmistakable. “Wait, what the fuck, are you ripped?”

“No, dude, I’m not fucking _ripped_.”

The entire walk back to Richie’s car was filled with the same kind of chatter, and the drive back was even _worse_ – Eddie found it hard to not unclick his seatbelt, open the door, and roll out down the street. If he knew Richie talked this much, he might have changed his mind a long time ago. Overall, he came to the conclusion that yeah, maybe it was pretty cute - Richie was a regular chatterbox, but Eddie wouldn’t be the one to tell him that he couldn’t hear a word he was saying as they drove with the top down. Richie’s red convertible was classier than the driver and had a sound system that was below average, but he seemed to be proud of it. The red paint shone under the moon and Richie was playing music that Eddie actually _knew_ , and with that, he felt comfortable.

Eddie’s apartment was smaller than small. The walk up was three sets of stairs, and once he had caught a glimpse of them, Richie practically begged for Eddie to carry him up, bridal style, to no avail. But by the time they had reached his front door, Richie had already been laying it on _thick_ – a kiss when they’d climbed the first flight, a light touch on the back of Eddie’s neck by the second, and at the end of the hallway of the third, Eddie had found himself with his back pressed against the wall and Richie pulling at his belt loops. After unlocking the door and Richie closing it behind him, Eddie flipped on the lights.

“Wow,” Richie said to himself, taking a few steps in and looking around. “This place is fucking _clean_. I’d kill to see you in a maid’s outfit.”

“Shut up, Richie.”

* * *

Maybe it was the moonlight coming through the window above his bed, or maybe it was the color of Richie’s eyes once he took off his glasses. Whatever it was, Eddie could feel his heart beating out of his chest. He’d forgotten how good it felt to kiss somebody who made the adrenaline rush worth it and to feel them touching him in ways he couldn’t touch himself. Richie had pressed kisses everywhere he could reach while on his back, but still found himself covered in red welts.

“That was… fucking awesome,” This was the first time Richie realized they didn’t have to yell over any kind of music to finally _listen_ to each other. He had since turned to face Eddie and reached out for him experimentally, then moved in a little closer. Gesturing to his chest and neck, he proudly showed off the freshly red marks that peppered his skin. “You’re like a fucking leech, man. Check me out.”

“Are you doing that because you want to be close to me or because you can’t see…?” When he had Richie on his stomach, skin to skin, Eddie had taken the liberty of taking off Richie’s glasses and only realized halfway through that he couldn’t see a damn thing. Maybe it was better that way.

“Yeah, I can’t see shit right now. Give me my glasses back.”

Eddie laughed again, and if there was one sound Richie would want to hear for the rest of his life, it might be that. Turning over onto his back to grab what might be the thickest glasses he had ever seen, Eddie thought he was happy. Richie took his glasses and pushed them back up his nose, then sighed.

“Thank god, now I can see that _body_ ,” He reassumed the position and moved his hand back to Eddie’s bare skin, dragging his hand across his stomach and trailed the tips of his fingers over the muscle there. “You _are_ fucking ripped. Honestly, when I went out to Tucker’s, I didn’t expect to get fucking railed — “

“Rich?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“If I shut the fuck up, I’ll die. Don’t you know anything about sharks?” Richie didn’t even take a second to breathe before he moved in closer, now a bit more brazen than before, and pressed a soft, open-mouthed kiss to Eddie’s shoulder. “If they stop moving, they drown, which is _fucked_ , but that’s like when humans choke on air, you know?” Another kiss before he nudged his nose against the warm skin of Eddie’s neck, pulling him nearer with his free hand. “What? Am I _too much_ for you, Eds?”

“ _Eds_?”

“Yeah, it sounds better than Eddie Spaghetti, doesn’t it?”

Eddie turned his head away from Richie and rolled his eyes so hard that they might fall out, shaking his head. “You are literally so fucking immature, what fucking grade are we in?”

“Dude, you just fucked me for, like, a half-hour, I think I can call you whatever I want.”

Eddie heaved a sigh from deep within his chest and covered his eyes with his bicep. This couldn’t be all there was to it. If it was, he might have to just shut up and die. Not even two minutes ago was he thinking about spending the rest of his life with this dude, and now, he was already reconsidering. The speed at which Eddie’s brain moved was fascinating to everybody but him, unable to catch his train of thought at the station and instead watching it speed away before you could grasp it.

“Why are you here, Richie? Like… in town. I don’t even know what the fuck I’m doing here, man. I don’t really know if this place is for me. Everyone is so fucking… _cool_.”

Richie found himself caught off-guard, but he was sure that was the last reaction that Eddie would be looking for. He took in a silent breath and pressed a reassuring kiss to the soft spot between Eddie’s collarbone and his neck, keeping his eyes closed. “Fuck, dude. I don’t know. This place fucking rules. You’ve only been here a week, man, you gotta give it time.”

“What if I don’t want to wait? What if I want to be happy _right now_?”

“Look, dude, _no_ one can do that, okay?” Richie pulled away from Eddie’s neck and propped himself up on his elbow. “If you want to come here and expect fucking _Disneyland_ overnight, you might want to try another reality. Like… Everyone here is just as fucked up as you, man. This place is a fucking graveyard. At least have fun with it.”

“If it’s a graveyard, then why the fuck are you here?”

 _That_ was seemingly the question he didn’t want to answer, but as soon as Eddie asked, Richie sat up and moved to the edge of the bed. It seemed the truth was his kryptonite. “I’m getting the fuck outta here. It’s almost midnight, I gotta go.”

“Richie, why are you here? If you’re so fucked up, what are you doing here?”

The small bedroom was practically closing in, and if it weren’t for the alarm clock sitting on Eddie’s bedside table, Richie would think he was having a nightmare. He got to his feet and ran his hands over his face, rubbing his eyes underneath his glasses. The one thing he had thought about for the past four months was _why the fuck he was there_ , and now he was being asked by a stranger? No way. Not gonna happen. He could feel Eddie’s eyes burning into his back, and that in itself _killed_ him. There he stood, not even wearing a scrap of clothing, in Eddie Kaspbrak’s bedroom, only Illuminated by the moon. Richie had never been happier that he couldn’t be seen.

“Richie…” came quietly from behind him, and he nearly flinched. “You can talk to me.”

“I’m fucking standing in your apartment with my dick out, dude, I know I can fucking talk to you.”

When he turned around, he was faced with quite possibly the most empathetic face he’d ever seen. Eddie had moved back down against his pillows and looked up at him, his eyebrows knit together and fingers laced together atop his stomach. _Fuck_ , he thought. _Fuck, fuck, fuck. FUCK_

“I’m gay, dude.”

“Yeah… So am I.” Eddie’s expression softened, but he’d be lying if he wasn’t more confused than anything.

“I’m fucking _gay_. Do you know how many gay people there are in this fucking town? There are so many that I can’t even remember who I hooked up with three _weeks_ ago. Like, every other fucking person is sucking dick, so why shouldn’t I? Right? If It’s what all the cool kids are doing?” Richie had now taken a step back and finally sat back on the edge of Eddie’s bed, but didn’t turn his head to look at him. “I’m here because I can’t do that in real life, man. It fucking _sucks_.”

Eddie didn’t say a word.

“Great. Rad. That’s awesome, I love that you’re not fucking saying anything.”

“Richie, if you can be who you want here, then… stay here.”

“And fucking kill myself like half the idiots here? No way, dude. I’m not gonna blow my brains out or wait eighty fucking years just to walk around with a bunch of other dead dudes. You couldn’t pay me enough.”

“I mean… you’re happy here.” Eddie swallowed, keeping his eyes fixed on the other. Richie’s shoulders tensed as he shifted to cross his arms across his chest. “You should feel like that all the time. You deserve that. Which sounds… so fucking simple and I _know_ it’s not that easy but man, Rich, someone has to tell you that sometime.”

As soon as Eddie fell silent again, Richie turned to look at him over his shoulder. “Don’t do that, man. Don’t… give me hope like that.”

The digital clock to Eddie’s right clicked to 11:59, and Richie caught it. They only had 60 seconds left until they’d have to wait for another moment like this, until Eddie could feel like a real person again. It wasn’t until then that he realized he had been holding his breath since they’d last kissed. With that in mind, Eddie sat up and moved closer to Richie, who was still sitting on the edge like he was going to push himself off. He reached out to place one hand between his broad shoulders and the other on the side of his face, but as soon as he leaned in to find his lips against Richie’s, time stopped. Maybe it wasn’t the end of the world, it was just midnight.


	2. ii.

Three walls, a window, and a desk that faced away from the New York skyline. That was Eddie Kaspbrak’s reality.

He was sure that was what he wanted to do for the rest of his life. Pushing fifty-five, he ran numbers all day and drank the burnt coffee that his coworkers made in the break room that was _almost_ clean enough to eat in. He didn’t get much sun through that great, big window in his office, but when he did, he took the time to stand in front of it… and breathe.

He wasn’t good at it. Never was. Breathing was not his “thing”.

Wall Street wasn’t made for guys who stop and smell the roses, no – they were meant for guys like Eddie, the type who are so tightly-wound that if they don’t scream every 20 minutes on the dot, they burst a blood vessel. The type who drink disgusting frappes from Starbucks and don’t offer a polite _thanks_ to the barista. These were the type of guys who everyone else hated, but Eddie knew someone had to be _that guy_. That kind of justification didn’t work. His incessant need to be _seen_ didn’t quite trump his incessant need to be right, or to gain some of the power he had lost back from when he was a kid, so he sat behind a desk five days a week for 14 hours a day. If he had no free time, he had no free time. That was that.

Eddie’s time at work was the same as his time at home. Constantly working, constantly keeping busy, always moving, always running, always, always, always. His routine kept him sane. First, he started by waking up at four in the morning on the dot to hit the Y. From there, he ran five miles on a treadmill and absolutely, positively, did _not_ shower there. After that, Eddie would return to his tiny home and blend up a smoothie (strawberry, bananas, non-dairy yogurt, and kale – no exceptions) after he took a shower, only using honey-based body scrub. His bathroom shone with the amount of tender love and care he put into cleaning it, like it was a hobby. Who knows, maybe it was. The rest of his day, he watched the clock tick in his office and did the same thing day in and day out, but if he said it wasn’t relaxing, he would be lying. The thing about his workplace was that nobody _really_ liked him, but that seemingly wasn’t an issue. He thought they were all idiots, jerks, dumbasses, douchebags, dicks – you get the picture. These were people that he mocked behind the closed doors of his office to only himself, but he wouldn’t save them from a scarring look when they slipped up in the break room. These people knew he didn’t like them, so in return, they stopped showing any effort into an office relationship with him. Not like he wanted to know them, anyway.

When his coworkers stopped doing cocaine for breakfast, needless to say, Eddie absolutely thought something was _wrong._ The people he surrounded himself had told him time and time again that the only way he would survive on Wall Street, or New York in general, was if he rubbed coke into his gums and injected coffee into his veins. _No, wait_ , he remembered. _They didn’t say coffee._ Their advice turned out to be wrong when Eddie took his first step into his office building and became completely unhinged. His call times were quick, getting right to the point, and his numbers skyrocketed as soon as he hit his stride. The truth was, he felt comfortable sitting around a bunch of guys who threw sentences together around expletives. Now, years later, he was able to sit in the comfort of his own office and listen to other guys do it for him.

Normally, he wasn’t a drinker. His colleagues invited him out more times than they didn’t, to which he would politely decline. Most of them were younger guys who spent their days on the phone, raising stocks and taking names, but he had since left that kind of optimism behind. At fifty-five, he even hardly went by Eddie anymore; Edward sufficed. His dark hair had turned to snow around his temples and his frown lines were more apparent than ever, but he didn’t feel any older. Maybe he always felt that old. Maybe he always woke up at seven and had a routine from the shower to getting into bed at night, and _maybe_ that’s how he liked it. He could do what he wanted, and what he wanted was to live a stable life that didn’t take much energy out of him. The people he worked with accused him of being boring, but they never told him that. These were the same people who would poke fun at him when he had his back turned, saying it was funny that he was a pretty small guy or wondering if he ever even smiled. They thought it was funny to jab him in the ribs, hypothetically, and while these were things that they kept to themselves, he knew. But Eddie was different than them, and that was something he could say with confidence, whether it was a good thing or not. He wasn’t a drinker, he didn’t do drugs, and had no real sense of what a rush was like – until the guy one office over told him about some kind of… virtual reality.

“It works, Kaspbrak, it was the coolest thing I’ve ever _done_ …” Jackson Randolph, a regular chatterbox who brought his coffee from home every day along with a handwritten note from his wife, had told him about. “You can pick your poison. I mean, you can choose where you go. And _when_.”

“Uh-hh…” Eddie stuttered out, looking down to find his coffee cup empty. Now _there’s_ a way out of this conversation. “So… you just... put on a headset and play games?”

“No, you don’t get it. You pay for these special privileges and you can live in any time period on this beach town. San Junipero. No rent, no paying for drinks, and real sex. You know me, I’m a skeptic, but the CFO of Global Atlantic told Tanner in HR about it, so he tried it, and then _I_ tried it, and Kaspbrak, I’m serious –“

“You’re insane,” Eddie started, still staring at the bottom of his mug. He shook his head. “I need more coffee.” 

It didn’t pop back up in his head until he was back home.

His house was small, but it was more than enough. It was just him, no wife, no kids, but he assured himself that was what he wanted. Four rooms in total: bedroom, kitchen, bathroom, living room, all pressed together into a neat little square right in the middle of New York. It was enough to keep him happy. He had the world’s smallest record collection that he’d inherited from his father and trinkets from his mother to keep him company, but those things were often looked at with a harsh nostalgic feeling in the back of his throat, like he’d swallowed battery acid. Most of Eddie’s things were, in fact, not really Eddie’s, but things that he kept from his childhood that violently brought him back to the age of twelve. On the days when he felt alone, he would turn on the tv or play music on the stereo, sitting with the lights off and his slippers on. He didn’t need anything else.

But now, he found it easier to sit in silence.

With his laptop open and a cold white light shining on his face, Eddie quickly googled a few dead-end searches with no luck:

_virtual reality_

_using virtual reality_

_virtual reality_

_san junipero_

* * *

Richie Tozier had found San Junipero six months before Eddie did.

His life was just fine, if not exciting. He was fifty-six and living in Chicago, Illinois with enough grey hair on his head and in his beard to qualify for the oh-so-exciting senior discount at the movie theater. Life was fine, he was fine, his career was fine. The entertainment industry had treated him well since he was too young to be headlining, but his friends had always told him that he looked older, which meant _free beer!_ At nineteen, he was posing as a twenty-one, two, three, _four_ year old, and no one seemed to even bat an eye at his lewd comedy. They thought it was funny that a kid who slouched and slurred would talk about his dick in ways they wouldn’t even hear the most disgusting comics would. His stand-up as a younger guy was choppy and unoriginal, but he’d quickly found fame in his twenties when he found his niche in the stand-up scene.

He was fond of the drugs almost as much as he was fond of the men. His friends, they knew. The ones he dated; they knew, too. The ones he kept around, while scarce, they knew, too. But being gay just wasn’t _funny_ to him – it was nothing he could make money off of, whether he wanted to admit it or not. Tickets just didn’t sell when people knew he took it on his back, on his stomach, on his face.

The idea of a virtual reality that one could live in for a one-time payment rocked his fucking world. If he could escape without practically killing himself, then he would do it. No questions asked. Fifty-six years on god’s green earth, and he was still looking for something he couldn’t put his finger on. His days were spent cooped up in his bedroom banging his hands on his keyboard, begging for something that could classify as funny to come out. The last three years of his life, he wrote for a show called _Bojack Horseman_ on Netflix, and before that, he had a stint on Bob’s Burgers, lending his voice _and_ his writing for an episode or two. But before that, he hoped just as much as the next guy that he could wait for the dust to settle and cozy up with someone who loved him. Not easy.

Instead, he coupled up with his friends. He lived his friendships – _breathed_ them. His heart beat for the ones he loved, devoting his livelihoods to them all. The friends he surrounded himself with were typically ones from his past, keeping him in check in their younger years, but now they found themselves tasting wine and plating cheese. Sophisticated was never a word Richie would use to describe himself, but damn, he could try.

my wife bev

Richie

hi babe

Do you remember that virtual reality setup  
that Ben and I found out about

Through work

that thing is a total crock

We used it last weekend

a crock of beautiful truths

any luck?

you ready to ditch me IRL yet?

It was amazing

We danced all night and sat by the beach

They have a trial version

just tell me you think im lonely and  
pathetic and have no friends

You have to grow up someday

You’re already over the hill, don’t be so bitter

being over the hill is a game and im winning sister

They offer it through Ben’s office

You should come with us next weekend

youre fucking kidding me

I am not fucking kidding you!

Sure, he’d give it a try. Richie would try anything once.

It was seemingly pretty simple – it felt like older rich people using recreational drugs at a house party with their other rich, old friends. It felt a little naughty and supervision was recommended, but not required. When Richie showed up at his friend’s houses, they ate dinner and had a few glasses of wine before getting into the festivities, so this time wouldn’t be any different. Getting older was supposed to be a virtue, but he supposed he wasn’t there yet.

Ben and Bev’s place was practically a dream to Richie: long hallways and marble tile, simple paintings that they had done together hung up on the walls. They had been married nineteen years by the time Richie knocked on their door, but to them, love felt easy. Ben had spent their entire friendship proving to others that he was born to be in love. Their typical dinner conversation was about how they missed their daughter who had just packed up and left for college but now, they had time to go out on the boat, and oh, Richie, you’re never going to believe this –

“We’re spending the summer out on the water.”

Richie almost coughed up the red wine he drank from the chalice in his right hand. _Lucky_ , he thought, _I love this fucking shirt._

“Oh, shit. When did you adopt the retiree lifestyle? What’s next, AARP?”

“Actually, you should consider applying,” Ben interjected, setting down his wine glass. Bev took one look at him and curled her arm around Ben’s, nodding in agreement. “It’s not so bad.”

“You guys are actually fucking AARP members? Wait, like –“ Bev took her free hand and used it to _whack_ Richie on the arm. “… So, you’re seriously living on the boat?”

The mood of the room had suddenly shifted, enough for all three of them to feel it coming down on them like gravity. Richie was unsure about a lot of aspects of himself– his career, his love life, even what he was going to have for dinner (his personal tie to French fries often overturned his deep, genuine love of quesadillas, it was usually a very emotional ordeal) – but one thing he did know was that he could not be left alone. Left to his own devices, Richie adopted the bad habits he had seemingly kicked a long time ago. He chain smoked cigarettes in his condo and redownloaded Grindr, seemingly oblivious to the thought that he might be a _little_ too old for that. Ben and Bev were on their way to retirement, and here he was, looking for a pretty young thing to come over and keep him company for the night. It never worked.

“We are… seriously… living on the boat,” Bev started. She moved away from Ben to push her plate slightly, then shrugged. “Beth went to college and won’t be back for summer vacation. Ben wants to sail. And it’s so beautiful, Richie, you would love it.”

Almost immediately, Richie froze in his seat and shook his head, almost having trouble comprehending. _So I’ll be alone all summer? Great!_ He swallowed the last of the wine in his cup and looked the two of them over, twisting his face into one of disdain. If they weren’t all supposed to be mature adults, Bev would complain about Richie acting like a twelve year old.

“How long would you be gone?”

“Three months at the most,” Ben chimed in, his voice staying gentle. Diplomatic. “Three is perfect.”

“Three months…” Richie trailed off, his eyes not meeting Bev’s. “Wow. Three months. That’s… Really fucking awesome, you guys.”

Ben and Bev’s sigh of relief was silently simultaneous, but Richie’s shoulders remained tight. If he couldn’t beat them, he’d love them. The one thing he was good at, _really_ good at, was loving other people, and he unknowingly carried that with a sense of pride. Sometimes it went to the wrong people. Sometimes it went to the right people at the wrong time. Richie Tozier’s love was seemingly never-ending, like a cup that runneth over. It felt like something he never trusted himself to give it away.

“We’ll take pictures.”

Richie offered a sort of burnt-out smile to the two of them, looking at the bottom of his crystal wine glass. “Great, I love vacation pictures.”

They finished their meal not in silence, but in something else, something worse: forced conversation. Richie did his best to be polite, but at the end of the day, he was a fifty-six year old man with grey beard stubble and life experience that no one could top, and they were a married couple. Some things would always be different, and that night, he realized what was different between them.

That night, they finished a bottle of wine and hooked themselves up so Richie could finally get a taste of what virtual reality was like. Ben politely sat out so he could make sure everything went smoothly, and Richie noted that _he really is a good fucking guy._ Ben Hanscom, a best friend and a role model. He seemingly didn’t mind sitting out that time, pressing the fact that he’d been doing it every weekend for the past two months, they wouldn’t even miss him. Their setup was easy to configure and understand: Richie sitting in a recliner that felt like it would swallow him up, Ben carefully placing stickers with wires attached to his greyed temples, and that was it. Richie halfway expected them to be cryogenically frozen and warned Ben that his body wouldn’t sell for much on the black market if he tried anything funny. Neither of them laughed.

* * *

Historically, Eddie was a skeptic about most things that other people would think are fun. The things that he saw on the internet didn’t interest him, the bars his colleagues frequented sounded like getting teeth pulled – it’s easy to get the picture. But after doing extensive research, he was sure this was different. It didn’t take a PhD to get the concept, but even then, it seemed futuristic and far off from what society should have been able to comprehend, even scientifically. If he wanted to try his hand at virtual reality, he would have to order a package for around five grand, find someone to make sure he didn’t go off the rails in a bout of unconsciousness, and actually live a life he was interested in – all things that didn’t sound like his idea of a good time.

Instead, he spent the next week trying to suck up to Jackson Randolph, a man he never even had second thoughts about. Being the one who introduced him to the idea, Eddie thought maybe he could benefit from attempting to open up and make a friend but wasn’t sure how to find a starting point. Bringing him lunch was too personal, and Eddie wasn’t the type to garnish a conversation with compliments. Besides, even if he tried, Eddie wasn’t sure he could find a nice thing to say about this guy in the first place.

His time with Jackson had come and gone, and it turned out that it was a lot easier than Eddie had expected – Jackson told him the basics that he’d read on web forums and the official website, but what he wanted was a taste. There was only so much that his regular life could offer him, and after all that time on god’s green earth, he wasn’t impressed. Jackson had told Eddie that he knew a guy who knew a guy who worked in the office that had a setup, to which he politely declined, telling him he would rather just try out the trial for himself.

By Thursday, a brown box showed up on his porch.

He opted out of having others around, insisting to himself that he could do it on his own, and for the most part, he was right. Other than the tutorial videos he had to sit through, the ones with a ten year old breathing heavily into a microphone, he did it all himself.

This could be his stepping stone into a reality he could enjoy. Fifty-five and divorced – not exactly what he wanted on his resume. They spent their years happily enough, if not a bit bored. Her name was Myra, and for the most part, he remembered her fondly, with her blonde hair and round face, along with her ability to make the perfect cherry pie. But they were far from a nuclear family. Her incessant worrying clashed with _Eddie’s_ incessant worrying, leaving them on separate pages of life. They fought frequently, leaving Eddie looking like the bad guy for raising his voice while hot, plump tears streamed down her rosy cheeks. He never thought it was out of ill-intent, for he had seen that before. His mother typically cried, and cried, and _cried_ to get Eddie’s attention and sympathy; crying when he would get upset with her, crying when he called her on her bluff, crying when he accused her of lying to him. Myra cried because she was upset. She cried because she was afraid, but she could never tell him of what.

To describe their marriage as loveless would mean they would have to love each other and to have those feelings reciprocated, but every morning, Eddie woke up dripping in guilt. He snuck around his own house, terrified of running into the person who he called his wife, but he could hardly look her in the eye after they got married. They never had a honeymoon phase, and Eddie was almost positive that it would never come. They never went on vacation, nor did they ever really _hang out_ as a couple. The level of comfort that they reached after being together for just about twenty years, give or take, trumped their feelings for each other. But still, every day, Eddie lied.

In his thirties, he started sleeping with men. In his forties, he actually dated them. But she never knew.

If he had a type, he couldn’t tell. He didn’t use dating apps and hardly went out to bars until he dropped his last shred of dignity and stepped on it on the sidewalk, downloading Grindr and hiding it in a folder on his phone marked “stocks”. The men he met were nice enough, telling him that they’d always wanted to fuck a Wall Street type, and he told them he’d always wanted to be with a social media influencer. A lie. He didn’t even know what that was. The things he hid were his own secrets, that’s his _private life_ , but should he really be keeping his private life from somebody who threatened to be there for better or for worse? He didn’t think so, but it didn’t stop him, only stifled him. In a perfect world, he could live the way he wanted. Myra would be cut loose, but he knew that if she went down, he was going down with her. That’s just his luck.

Myra didn’t judge or prod him, but he figured that she should have. He _wanted_ her to ask, or to care.The way rage boiled underneath his collar at the end of a long day was hard to conceal when she didn’t stop to ask a hundred and one questions about his day the way she usually did, a habit he watched her kick right before his eyes. Twenty years with someone, and he figured you stopped caring about love. An abstract concept to him, he was never sure when to say it, or how to say it, or if he should say it at all; at the end of the day, she called the shots and practically trained him to pepper _I love yous_ into their everyday conversation. When it started becoming automatic, it spelled out trouble for the Kaspbraks.

When they divorced, he asked if he could keep the house. She obliged, but not without crying until her lungs gave out. Eddie had tried to let her down gently, _truly_ , but that didn’t seem to be an option when dealing with Myra. Letting someone down easily usually meant being understanding and kind, two things that, at his core, Eddie knew he was. But when tears threatened to spill down her cheeks, he immediately took action and stood up a little straighter. _Plenty of time to talk to her, plenty of time to be kind._

“Marty, _listen_ to me, I just think it would be better if we – “

“Spend some time _apart_?” Myra cried, reaching out to grab at Eddie’s sleeve. They were cooking dinner: her favorite. It wasn’t a ritual or a hobby so much as an activity she insisted they do together a long time ago, but after the bumps in the road, it became a desperate attempt to save what they had as if it hadn’t already been lost, slipping through their fingers like water from the drain. Instinctively, Eddie yanked his arms back in what would have been self-defense in any other situation, but here, it was aggressive. “You said that last spring and you stayed at your _mother’s_ house for _three weeks! Eddieee!_ ”

A migraine crept up the back of his neck and the tips of his ears burned red in a stark contrast to her wet eyes and trembling hands. The thing about Myra was this: her heart seemed to be made of gold, weighing her down with every step, and Eddie’s felt like the opposite. He hadn’t yet found the qualities he enjoyed in himself, and yet still held out hope for that. He yearned to find the compassion that his mother told him he had. Between he and Myra, their hearts bled, but not for each other. The two of them weren’t meant to be together, until death do they part, and yet, here they stood. Their whole marriage, they were the Kaspbraks, but he wasn’t sure he even wanted to be a Kaspbrak anymore.

“Calm down. Calm down,” Eddie closed his eyes and held his hands up in the air almost in a sign of defeat, then shook his head. “You need to relax.”

“Are you _leaving?!”_

Eddie thought about that one. He wanted the house but figured that was _not_ the best time to ask for it. But he did it anyway.

“Actually, I was kind of hoping that I could stay here, since – “

Myra interrupted his sentence with a loud wail, reaching out for him again. This time, he let her. With pasta bubbling on the stove, she pulled him close to her body and wrapped both of her arms around him, almost enough to cut off his blood flow.

“ – since I make more – “

Another squeeze.

“Maybe this is a bad time – “

Finally, she let go, and Eddie was met with what was quite possibly the saddest face he had _ever seen_. That was a new one. Eddie knew that she meant well, but he wasn’t so sure that Myra knew how to go about _being well_. Their codependency had brought their marriage to its knees and he watched it happen with no complaints. Neither of them had said a thing, only adding fuel to the fire. If it took a screaming match, he would put his gloves on. If it took a crying contest, he would let her win. Everything was a copy of a copy of a copy of their last disagreement, and they kept quiet about how much they both despised it – whether it was being together or the amount of fighting they got into.

They separated on August 13th and were legally divorced by November 2nd. Eddie visited San Junipero for the first time on the 3rd.

He found himself happier there, but that didn’t come as a surprise to him when he described his dream apartment and he got what he wanted, or the way he could design himself. They called it his _avatar_ , but really, it was just taking his appearance, subtracting 20 years, and getting rid of the frown lines that had found their home on his forehead. He felt decently handsome back in his younger years, combing his dark hair back and blinking up at the moon with big eyes, only taking the time for himself. After so long, being on his own was all that he wanted, and there, he could finally breathe.

-

San Junipero had become Eddie’s favorite place. Nothing could compare to his love of the beach, he was sure of it, and there… he’d found Richie. Richie, the self-proclaimed “village idiot” who lived off gin and tonics and Cheeze Whiz after dancing until he dropped every night. Eddie found his habits disgusting ( _bad Richie habit #1: he’s a nail-biter. Bad Richie habit #2: he picks at his face_ ) and tried to bite his tongue when he said something unfunny, but keeping a scathing comment to himself proved to be difficult.

After their first night together, Eddie was desperate to find Richie every day. He was never at his own home, only ever out and about; he often had to go through a grapevine of people wearing jackets with heavy shoulder pads and sagging leg warmers to find him. After what seemed like the one-hundredth time of climbing a mountain only for them to see each other again at Tucker’s, Eddie wanted to lay down some ground rules, but Richie typically had other ideas.

Eddie had never been one to read the room. It was only half past nine when they ended up on his tiny loveseat that sat smack dab in the middle of his cramped living room, the night being spent the same way it always was: _kissing_.

It turned out that the world _did_ end, and that it ended more than once. It ended at least three times in a single day. It ends every single time Richie kissed him, the gentle caresses against Eddie’s skin — be they on the back of his hand or the side of his neck — serving as the signs to the end of the world. Armageddon. A fire the size of the earth would start up and swallow him every time Richie would lean in and, by the time their lips are finally together, the world lit up in flames. Once their tongues are grazing, once they can taste each other, Eddie could see the beauty in scorched earths and the charisma in cataclysms. Every time they make the world end, together, it’s always rebuilt by the time it’s over. It’s _theirs._ When they move away, their mouths still hanging on to each other and their eyes finding one another once again, the world becomes a utopia. Better, purer, and safer than before. 

Eddie thought the reveries would have stopped by now, that kissing Richie would have stopped them in their tracks, but instead, they persist in their cruelty, arriving to him in the most unexpected moments. From a logical standpoint, it made sense to him — the more he had, the more he wanted. The more they kissed, the more Eddie would think about it. It was easier not to think about them before, whether it was the lives they had left behind or others that had come before him, to force himself into reality because the prospect of them _together_ was so fantastic that it was always hard to believe in anyway. But now, it’s real. And if there’s anything he’s learned since the onset of his new life, it’s that there’s nothing harder to escape from than reality.

Then, what he reveled in were the memories. It was easy for him to dwell over glints of affection and warmth, fixate on all the little ways Richie touched him. When they were apart, he played them over and over in his head. How sometimes, when they would kiss, Richie’s large, warm hand would settle onto the back of his neck. Or how other times, his hand would cradle Eddie’s cheek, thumb brushing over his skin. Eddie’s favorite, also the rarest, is when Richie, just as lost in the moment, puts his hand in Eddie’s hair, lightly pulling at the loose strands. No matter the action he takes, no matter what way he chooses to caress him in the midst of it, Eddie always felt brand new.

When they’re kissing, Eddie doesn’t want to stop. He only thinks about it after the fact — that bliss he feels when they’re together is what he’d spent most of his life trying to run from. When Richie’s lips are on his, Eddie thinks he could drown like this, die like this, live like this, and he would be happy. When they aren’t kissing, he longs for it. When they’re together, it’s all he has. 

Now, Eddie figured, was as good of a time as any to bring up his worries, anxieties, biggest fears, and if he was lucky, Richie wouldn’t be blindsided by something that seemed sudden, but Eddie had been thinking about it all night. By the time Richie had moved his slow trail of kisses down Eddie’s neck, Eddie piped up –

“What are we, Rich?”

Richie stopped where he was and audibly swallowed, frozen. What were they? _I’m fucking crazy about you and the way you roll up your jeans all the way up your calf and you make me want to be a better fucking person and I love you, I love you, I love you. I’m boiling alive in my love for you._

“What are we, what are we…” Richie pulled back slightly and mused, shaking his head and avoiding eye contact, along with the question. _I want to marry you, I want to be with you all the time, I want to stay in this perfect place with you forever._

“ _Yeah,_ ” Eddie asserted. “We’ve been seeing each other here for two months.”

“What, your longest relationship ever?” Richie looked him in the eye and offered a smile, one that wasn’t reciprocated. “Come on, Eds, lighten up a little.”

“Richie, shut the hell up. Just…” He shook his head. “Shut up.”

“What, too much for you?”

“… sorry.”

“For the hickey? No, dude, your apology was already accepted. I told you that hours ago.”

“No, not that. I’m sorry for…” Eddie paused again, and closed his eyes. This was the hard part. He’d die trying. “For liking you… as much as I do. Or at all. I just think I might have put you in a weird position because of how I feel, like, I just feel sofuckingguiltyandIneverwanttoputyouinthatkindofposition and…“ Eddie took in a deep breath. “I’m sorry for that. You don’t have to worry about…I know you don’t really fucking care about shit like that and I don’t expect you to so… don’t feel bad or anything.”

At last, Eddie opened his eyes and took in a heaving breath, finally letting the tension come off his shoulders. He always, _always_ thought the worst was coming; that way, when it did, he wouldn’t be surprised. He looked up Richie with those big eyes to gauge his reaction, and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t surprised. Richie didn’t look uncomfortable or annoyed or upset or _anything_. In fact, he’s smiling again, _trying_ to hide this one behind the red of his cheeks. Neither of them said anything, and the hole in Eddie’s chest grew.

“What makes you think I don’t like you?”

“…You didn’t say you did.”

“I didn’t say I _didn’t_.”

“Fuck you, Richie.”

“So… you _like_ me. Holy shit. What the fuck makes you think I don’t like you? You’re like, way out of my league, dude.”

“…You didn’t say you did. Plus, you are so _not_ out of my league, like, you’re… totally in my league. ”

“I didn’t say I _didn’t_.”

Right then, Eddie was sure that his heart stopped beating. Maybe it fell out of his chest, on its own quest to attempt making sense of this anomaly. He opened and closed his mouth like a fish out of water, what the _fuck_ is he supposed to do? He’s supposed to say something right now. What the hell was he supposed to say? 

“You…” Eddie closed his eyes, but Richie reached out to touch the side of his face. His cheeks quickly matched the shade of Richie’s, a perfect pink, when Richie leaned forward to touch his forehead to Eddie’s, but only for a second. The action made him stutter, lose his grip, unsure of where the hell he was going.

“Eddie…” Richie took in a shallow breath. “Look at me.” _Yes,_ Eddie wants to say. _Yes. I want to look at you for the rest of my fucking life._ He carries on, his voice almost failing him. He realizes that this is getting incredibly _real_ , territory Richie was unfamiliar with.

Eddie looked up. Finally. “So… you like me.”

“I don’t know, dude. You tell me, you seem to have it all figured out.”

He didn’t. Neither of them did. Richie meant well, he _really_ did, but the vagueness and uncertainty of a comment like that was enough to send Eddie tumbling down the rabbit hole. Instead of pressing it, though, Richie made the mistake of leaning toward him to press his mouth against the warm skin of Eddie’s throat, only to be met with a quickening pulse.

“Relax, man, we’re alone now,” Richie moved his hand to the edge of the couch and the other against the side of Eddie’s neck. “If you don’t have it figured out _now,_ you’ll have it figured out _later_ , right?”

Eddie, on the other hand, hadn’t even been listening – in fact, the entire time he spoke, he could feel his entire body tightening and going cold from his core all the way out, his skin beginning to prickle with goosebumps. If he could look in a mirror, he’s sure he would be as white as a ghost, but he wasn’t freaking out. He wasn’t _losing his shit_ , as Richie often put it, but instead, all he could think about was the two of them together. It was then that he realized how idiotic this all was; not being able to see someone after certain hours, certain days, certain circumstances… how was that fair?

After a moment, Eddie took in a sharp breath, one that startled Richie out of his Eddie-induced-stupor, and once he was ripped from it, Eddie had already shoved him onto his back and settled himself right above his belly-button.

“You’re so _fucking_ huge, Rich.”

Richie took a second to adjust his glasses and catch his breath – _holy shit, am I dreaming?_ “Thanks, man. When I was a kid, I drank lots of milk and ate all my vegetables. Totally promotes good bone health.”

“Fuck you, dude, that’s not even true,” Eddie breathed out. “You’re so broad. And… _hairy._ And _huge._ ” Eddie’s hands had quickly made their way up Richie’s shirt, then back down as he undid a few buttons, then met him in the middle for a kiss that tasted desperate. Desperation was always apparent when they were kissing – at least, that’s how it seemed. To Richie, he smelled like soap and tasted like spearmint gum, but somehow, he could always pick the desperation out of it all. By the time Eddie had taken his own shirt off, Richie was looking back up at him, his eyes tracing the outline of his body.

“Do you want to be with me, Richie?” Eddie reached for Richie’s wrists and quickly set them on his own chest, moving them to mimic _exactly_ how he wanted to be touched. “I want to be with you.”

“Eds – “ Richie could practically hear the adrenaline dripping through his voice, so he chose his words carefully. “I want to fucking be with you so bad, man. You’re like…” _The only thing I think about_.

“Tell me I’m the only thing you think about, Rich.”

 _Shit_. He couldn’t help it. “I want to be with you.” Richie sat up and closed the gap between them, but Eddie had a different idea, pushing him back down and grabbing his wrists again, but this time moving them above Richie’s head to keep him there. “Can we put on some music?”

“Stop talking. Please, dude, stop talking.”

* * *

“Hey…” Richie looked up from where he was laying on the floor, holding up his hand for a high-five. “That was fucking awesome.”

Eddie didn’t share the sentiment, looking down at Richie and pulling his socks on. Socks before pants – now that was a look.

“Seriously, Eds, it was like I was dying but still alive– “

“Can you be quiet for _ten seconds_?”

“Sorry, dude. Whatever, just trying to break the ice. Guess I’ll go fuck myself.”

Richie sat up and reached for his glasses that had fallen off his face, pushing them up his nose. If this was life with Eddie, he was sure that he could do it forever. Finally, after sitting under a weighted silence while Eddie got dressed, Richie let out a slow breath.

“Hey, man… Do you think we could work outside of this place?”

Eddie froze. Deer, meet headlights.

“You mean, in real life?”

“Yeah, dude, in real life.”

“You wouldn’t like me in real life. I’m… a fucking joke to my colleagues. I do bullshit work with stocks. You know what they tell me? That if they put coal up my ass, it’s so tight, you’d have a diamond in a week.”

“Well – “ Richie started, ready to quip until the cows come home and answer with some bullshit joke. Those only proved to be funny about 30% of the time.

“I don’t want to hear it.”

“I write for TV. Used to be a comic in Chicago, then I burned out on coke. Not pretty, but least I don’t have a _True Hollywood Stories_ about me.”

“… That actually sounds pretty fucking cool. Not the burning out part, but… like.. Would I know anything you did?”

“Probably,” Richie leaned in to leave a kiss against Eddie’s knee, then his thigh. “I think I’d like you.”

The longer he thought about it, the longer the seconds felt. Who knows, if they met, what’s the worst that could happen? Maybe they don’t ever see each other again. Richie would remain unimpressed and Eddie would be left without a paddle. But what was the best case scenario?

“Yeah,” Richie continued, avoiding Eddie’s eyes. “I think that we’d get along like two fucking peas, man.”

Pause.

Pause.

The longest pause of Eddie’s life.

“Where are you from?”

Finally, Eddie was pulled back into this reality, one that was not his own. “I live in New York. Manhattan.”

“Oh, cool, you’re like, a city dude. Cool. That’s rad,” Richie shrugged. “I’m in Chicago.”

Eddie blinked. “That’s a pretty short flight. Like, two hours.”

“What, are you gonna come rescue me? My five eight knight in shining armor?”

“Actually, I’m five nine, so – “

“You gonna come ask me to let down my hair, like Rapunzel? Dude, be warned, I’m like… fifty-six.”

Finally, something that lowered his heart rate. Eddie took the chance to run his thumb over Richie’s and let out what sounded a lot like a sigh of relief. “Oh, fuck. Thank god. Me too.”

“Are you serious? Jesus, thank _god_ , dude, that makes me feel, like, so much better. It’s like, shit, what if you were, like, _thirty?_ That’s way out of my range, seriously, there’s literally no fucking shared experiences there.”

“If I go to Chicago, will you stop talking?”

“Not a fucking chance.”

“Great.”

The clock on Eddie’s wall didn’t even read ten o’clock yet. They had all the time in the world.


	3. iii.

Present day. The kind of reality that made his stomach turn.

Richie Tozier, never a fan of traveling by ground, had booked a plane ticket the day after Eddie had agreed to seeing him. Richie half expected for him to meet him at the airport, holding up a sign that said **RICHIE TOZIER** with little hearts swirling around, drawn in marker, made with love – but no, Eddie had called him a car. He’d been to New York plenty of times, but never on his own accord. In his younger years when he had toured, the east coast was nowhere as popular for him as the west coast, and he had his fair share of horror stories. The first time he visited, someone in Times Square had spilled their beer all over the front of his clothes, and the second time, he lost his shoe on the subway ( _don’t ask_ ). The third and final time, his touring crew had insisted that he try a slice of pizza from a hole in the wall that they swore on, and it gave him food poisoning that lasted so long, he had to extend his trip. New York was fine. But New York had Eddie, and now, so did he.

The airport was bustling, which was pretty much to be expected, but he made it out alive and only bought one neck pillow for the flight back. Normally, Richie would splurge and buy out entire tourist traps for a good old _I <3 New York _shirt and a snow globe with skyscrapers lining the small, hand-painted skyline, but now, he was there for business... Or something like that.

The car that Eddie had arranged for him was smaller than he would have liked it to be – the backseat was cramped with his beaten up black suitcase sitting in his lap, his long legs angled awkwardly, almost against his chest.

“Hey, man, I’m like a fucking pretzel back here,” Richie spoke up, trying to stretch his arms out. “My back gave out on me at 20, I’m _dying_.” Finally, he was able to maneuver himself into a more comfortable position and fished into the pocket of his jeans, grabbing his phone.

Eddie

hey. It Richie. Will be there in 30 minutes.  
is that ok by you.

Yup

Im going to die of asphyxiation back here  
not in the sexy way

There’s a sexy way?

oh my god are you serious right now?

You are so fucking stupid sometimes. No

In another world, Richie might coil back and sulk – but in this world, the world where he stays content and maybe even _happy_ for longer than a day or two, he leaned into it. Every night before then, Eddie called him a _fucking asshole_ on the phone before they went to bed, with Richie chiming in with an enthusiastic _fuck you_. To him, it was an odd comfort, but at some point, he chalked it up to just wanting to hear someone on the other line. Since agreeing to see each other, Richie had spent little to no time in San Juneripo, instead taking the time during his day to send Eddie cutesy texts during his workday. A little “hey, honey badger” here, a little “what are you wearing” there, whatever killed the time.

Typically, his days were the same: he woke up at noon and scrolled through Twitter or Reddit in bed for a few hours, and when he got bored of the mind-numbing attraction, he’d get out of bed and roll a joint while brewing a hot cup of coffee, carefully measured by his Keurig. _This isn’t bad for fifty-six,_ he’d thought on more than one occasion. _I could retire like this. Kick back with a 401k, all that Ben and Bev shit._ His breakfast consisted of his joint and his coffee, and every morning, he sat on his back deck and enjoyed himself – no, _really_ enjoyed himself. Chicago was nice for that, he figured. It offered him the anonymity he craved while still giving him a taste of the crowd of people he had grown up surrounded by, all tied together with the bow of the comedy industry he had fallen head-over-heels for. Chicago, his heart, and soul.

New York, however, was rotting in the pit of his stomach, turning over and making him nauseated. Deep down, Richie knew he was unfair for thinking that New York City was a sinkhole of a city, taking everything in reach down with it, but that seemingly didn’t stop him until Eddie had told him where he was at during their first _formal_ phone call. But other than quickly shutting up, that phone call was sort of where it had all begun. The sound of Eddie’s tightly-wound voice wasn’t much different than the one Richie had found himself familiar with; instead of being high-strung and quick, the older Eddie had found comfortability in a slower, lower pace and tone, often coming off as annoyed. If Richie knew any better, he was sure that half the time they spoke, Eddie had his index and middle finger pressed together to pinch the bridge of his nose in annoyance. It was part of his charm, but Richie seemed to be the only one actually moved by it. Everything, and he meant _everything_ , Eddie did seem to make Richie turn all shades of pink, from his head to his toes. Whether it was the way his words slowed as he got ready for bed or leaving Richie a voicemail detailing everything he was going to do that day in an orderly list, it was all enough for Richie to know, fondly, that his life was officially fucking over. _Here lies Richard Wentworth Tozier: too in love to see two feet in front of him._

The difference between real life and San Junipero at that point in Richie’s life was simple, at least to him. In San Junipero, he did things differently and lived his life the way he would have twenty-something years ago. In the confines of reality, he was left to daydream about what could have been if he were a happier kid, or if he were more honest with himself as a young adult, not just gripping the sink and telling himself in the mirror over and over and _over_ again that he was normal like the rest of them. The way that he draped his long arms around the guys he knew wasn’t normal, and neither was the way men would take off his glasses and kiss between his eyes. Richie’s entire life was categorized between _normal_ and _not normal_ despite knowing that sort of mantra would absolutely get him killed one day. But he didn’t care.

Richie had never found it easier to love another human being. Eddie had a thick exterior, judging those who acted differently than him and not allowing anyone to chip away at it, but still, Richie found himself with a pickaxe in hand. Richie, on the other hand, had an aura that was hard to decode, but Eddie liked puzzles that challenged his skill. The truth was that they had only known each other for four months, but Eddie had told Richie himself that he wanted to jump in feet-first. The phone call was simple and quick, but Eddie was quick to the point.

“Hey,” Eddie’s voice on the phone was distant, with the unmistakable sound of honking cars in the background almost drowning him out. “Are you busy?”

Richie, who was really only busy under a technicality, pulled his hand out of his pants and sat up from his slumped position on the couch. “No, totally not.”

“We’re fifty-five and we’re not getting any younger,” Eddie started, swerving through traffic. His tone quickly turned frantic, but he showed no sign of almost hitting that pedestrian who didn’t look both ways first, then slamming on his brakes. “I want to fucking be with you.”

The way Richie’s heart bounced around in his chest was unmatched. He and Eddie had been speaking on the phone every night since their last time in San Junipero, unknowing that they would never go back. The idea of them returning to a place where they could make their own destiny hadn’t yet set upon them, instead leaving them with a newfound love of their real life. They were both looking, _straining_ for something to cling to, something to make them feel real, and had knowingly found it in each other.

“Shit, are you proposing to me? Over the phone? Oh my god, my sister is going to be so fucking pissed that you didn’t ask her for my hand.”

“Shut the fuck up,” came from the other side of the phone, followed by a string of expletives. “Anyway, I think it would be really fucking stupid if we didn’t, like, get serious, so I’m asking you to get serious with me. Like... go steady.”

“I’m sorry, did you just say go steady? What is this, the fucking eighties?”

“Oh my god, just— “

Richie didn’t even hesitate. “ _Fuck_ yeah.”

Rolling back to the present, the last phone call they had before his flight touched down was nothing like the one Richie had fondly remembered. It was hardly fifty seconds long and just a quick check-in before he boarded. Characteristically, Eddie was going through a list of things that had come to him while crafting what Richie should pack before he went off into what Richie should be prepared for in case of a plane crash. All Richie could tell him was _thanks, you’re a fucking psycho_ and tell him he’d be there in just a few hours, and hang up. Technically, what they had was perfect.

The time between deboarding the plane and _finally_ getting out of that cramped car that Eddie had so obviously chosen as a way to get back at him for something, _anything_ , went by faster than Richie had been anticipating, so being dumped out in Eddie’s Long Island driveway was more a kick in the teeth than a gentle reminder of love. Suddenly, his heart was pounding to the point where Richie could feel something coming up his throat from his stomach and there wasn’t anything he could do about it. The steps he was taking were harder than the ones to get to his feet and out of the car, and even worse was the heavy knock on Eddie’s front door.

But fuck, if it wasn’t worth it.

Eddie, who had been sitting by the door for the past hour, had never opened a door faster in his life. But as soon as he did, he felt the intense need to… Kiss? Hug? In front of him was somebody he had confided in, somebody he let take care of him, someone different, someone new. He noted that Richie was taller than he expected, but didn’t look much different than the much younger Richie he had met months ago. Instead of bright eyes and a wide smile, this Richie had wrinkles around his mouth and grey dusted into his hair.

“You’re fucking old,” was what came out before Eddie reached out to wrap both of his arms around Richie’s broad shoulders and pull him closer for a hug. With his nose pressed against his chest, the overwhelming smell of _Richie_ was all he could focus on. Without saying anything else, Eddie took a moment to look up at him, soaking in whatever he could – _this isn’t something to forget. Don’t forget his face. His eyes._

It was hardly even a moment before the space between them was sealed with a kiss. These were the messy parts that they didn’t see on the beaches of San Junipero; there, they could be themselves, without shaking hands or the hesitance they so badly wanted to show. It was different when it didn’t feel real. This time, Richie could feel Eddie all but trembling underneath the shirt on his back. The first kiss, they missed each other’s mouths like it was a contest, instead pressing a kiss against rough, stubbled cheeks. The second was a bit better, this time Eddie taking his time in finding Richie’s lips. The third, Eddie had grabbed Richie by the hem of his jacket and pulled him closer, closer, _closest_ , then inside. Richie was sure the house Eddie called his own was immaculate, beautifully decorated and carefully curated, but he couldn’t tell when he had a handful of t-shirt and a mouthful of Eddie Kaspbrak.

“Great pad –“ Richie breathed out, then took in a deep breath. “Love what you’ve done with the place.”

Eddie, in response, rolled his eyes and leaned up for another kiss that seemed more desperate than the last few. Up the stairs and down the hallway, Richie finally found the strength he had been looking for to drop the backpack that hung from one shoulder down to the floor in front of Eddie’s bedroom. It was _cute_ , Richie thought, whatever “cute” was coming from Eddie. The bed was made neatly with a blue comforter, pale walls, two nightstands with a clock ticking quietly away on what he could only assume was the side Eddie slept on. A great, big window faced outward and onto the street, giving the two of them a view of what they could be, with the bathroom door shut a few feet to the right.

Finally, Eddie stood opposite of him and put his hands on his hips. “How was the flight?”

Richie heaved a sigh, looking around the room and casually shrugging off the jacket he had on. “Oh, you know, long. The flight attendants were hot, though.”

“God, Rich, how do you do it?” Eddie asked, his voice low. “I see you and I just… want to fucking take you apart.”

“They gave me free booze – “

With just a beat of his heart, Eddie moved forward and fisted Richie top and pulled him into another kiss, their mouths piecing together like the last two pieces of a puzzle. Was he malfunctioning? He was malfunctioning. But Richie didn’t miss a beat, simply cupped the back of Eddie’s neck and pulled him closer, like he was fucking _born_ to do it. How was this – What was he –

For some unknown reason, Eddie felt the need to defend himself. “I don’t usually do this,” he said, the claim perhaps undermined by him removing his t-shirt as he said it. They were dating, right? Why did he say that? Richie kissed him once, twice, three times, wet and _hot_. Eddie groaned and caught the hem of Richie’s shirt, pulling it up and off of him, revealing a hairy stomach and chest that disappeared past the waist of his jeans. Eddie’s throat dried. “I mean, we’re dating, so does that actually even matter?” He persisted, undoing his belt buckle and pushing down the pants he had on. He grabbed the back of Richie’s neck, holding him still for a quick kiss.

“Oh my god, you’re talking so much, it’s actually fucking turning me on.” Richie’s hands were at the waist of his jeans now, annoyingly not removing any clothing, but he still looked good not doing it. There was something Eddie found alluring about Richie Tozier, _the_ Richie Tozier, standing half-naked in front of him – _for_ him. To him, it was catharsis. Seeing Richie this way and being able to touch his skin felt the same as if somebody had cut him open and let the blood drain from his body, leaving him with moments of beautiful clarity.

His thoughts finally cleared as soon as he found himself tangled between Richie’s legs and his sheets, keeping one hand Richie’s head, pressed against the headboard behind him. He thought he could finally let go and enjoy the freedom of being with the person he was destined to be with until Richie swallowed thickly, gasping for a breath and managed to let out, “This is a… a poor representation of my personal values – I don’t usually do this. I don’t hook up with random guys anymore.”

Eddie looked down at him and furrowed his brow before he let out a clipped laugh – low and without humor, a little strained, and slid his hand over Richie’s chest. “Random guys,” He leaned down and moved his free hand to the middle of Richie’s thigh, mouth trailing the side of his neck. “You sound like a fucking idiot.”

Richie exhaled shakily, his stomach in knots. He’s pretty sure he’s blacked out. Or passed out. Or passed away. _Jeez. This guy doesn’t know when to fucking quit._ He nodded a silent okay – and that was the last vaguely coherent thought he had that night.

* * *

Eddie Kaspbrak’s shower was one to be remembered. Eddie had pressed a soft towel into Richie’s hand and told him to _go nuts_ , Egyptian cotton or something. The bathroom was all metal and dark granite, a far cry from Richie’s hit-or-miss water pressure with occasional hot water. None of the bath products smelled of pines, but Eddie still inexplicably did. _Okay_ , Richie told himself, standing under the hot water. _I could get used to this._ By the time he turned off the water and pulled on the same pair of underwear he was wearing yesterday, he was able to get a good look at himself in the mirror. Taller, broader, and older than Eddie remembered him, he was sure.

Instead of returning back to Eddie’s bedroom and sweet-talking him into letting Richie blow him before bed, he stood in front of the medicine cabinet and opened it, almost shocked to find its contents. On the first shelf, Richie found the basics. Tylenol, ibuprofen, Advil, Aleve. The second shelf was a plethora of vitamins: vitamin b-12, vitamin C, vitamin D – he couldn’t keep up, until he took a look at the bottom shelf. On the third shelf rested the best of the best. The things on that shelf could send you flying high if you were so inclined. Percocet, Vicodin, valium, all prescribed to the one and only Edward F. Kaspbrak.

When Richie opened the door back into the bedroom, Eddie was already asleep. The lamp on the free side of his bed had been left on and a phone charger sat next to it with care. Eddie, on the other side, had a pair of foam earplugs in and a red mask over his eyes, now oblivious to the rest of the world. That was fine.

Despite whatever fear it was that almost kept Richie away, still he slipped into Eddie bed. The first thing Richie seemed to notice was that Eddie was tactfully _not_ touching him. Richie reached over to turn off the light, then closed his eyes in the dark and finally let out that breath he was holding in. He sprawled these days: a true starfish imitation because he always had the bed to himself. Now, he tucked in his arms, lying on his back and trying to relax. No such luck – the bed was foreign. He didn’t know this bed.

But Eddie had a stupid, melodic rhythm to his breaths, like steady waves crashing onto the beach that they both found home in. And although they weren’t touching, the warmth of Eddie still reached him under the shared duvet – his warmth was imprinted in the mattress beneath him, all around him. It’d been a good while since Richie had even the ghost of something to keep him warm.

His mind drifted across town, to another apartment, where two people slept, probably all tangled up in each other, like they did every damn night, and Richie never crossed their minds _. What would you think of me now_ , he wondered briefly, with the one person he might be able to love. _Pity or envy?_

Being with Eddie felt different.

Richie had tried to convince himself years ago that he didn’t need other people as much as he thought –that he had to be fine by himself, he had to be enough for himself. He couldn’t rely on others for happiness, not even his best friends. No matter how hard he tried. He had learned that when the last guy left him, or the one before that. So he didn’t text anyone because he knew people were busy: Ben and Bev were embracing the hetero lifestyle, and once that seemingly fell through, he gave it up. Until Eddie, everyone had someone but him. But the feeling of an electric shock was brand new to him. As soon as they had touched for the first time, every doubt that he could never find love went away. Now he just had to convince himself he deserved it.

 _What would happen if I never went back to Chicago_ , he wondered. Would he just become a lost figure among the crowds, going to work, coming back home, not finding any of it worthwhile? A lot of people lived like that, he realized. He probably saw those people every day without realizing: people who existed, right in the middle of everyone, but without someone on their side. It seemed a fate too lonely to bear.

He wasn’t sure when he eventually fell asleep, but he somehow did.

* * *

When Eddie woke up, Richie wasn’t in bed next to him, and he was inclined to have a meltdown over it.

Upon reflection, he probably just got up to get something to eat.

Upon his _second_ reflection, he realized how fucking crazy he was being.

Eddie’s little book of love had always told him the same thing time and time again, and that was this: it wasn’t love if you weren’t being manipulated. The love being expressed to you wasn’t real if you didn’t feel guilty or ashamed or sick to your stomach. If somebody told you they loved you, they were lying. If they weren’t lying, they were trying to get on your good side. If they were crying, it meant they felt so bad and loved you so much that they _had_ to change. But maybe this time it would be different.

Instead of laying in bed and staring at the ceiling, fighting off the beginnings of what felt like an anxiety attack, Eddie took in a deep breath and sat up in bed before planting his feet firmly on the ground and getting up. As he looked around the room, he caught Richie’s backpack in the corner of his room, now unzipped with clothes spilling out of it and a toothbrush sitting on top of his dresser.

“Oh, great, that’s fucking awesome, yeah, why even use it first thing in the morning,” he muttered under his breath, rolling his eyes so hard that they could roll out of his head and all the way down the street. That was something he could get pissed off about later.

It didn’t take him much time at all to find Richie sitting on his back porch, still in his underwear and wrapped in a white robe Eddie had gotten as a birthday gift. The smoke that billowed above his head matched the joint that hung between his lips as he scrolled through some app mindlessly on his phone. Richie practically jumped out of his skin when Eddie opened the door behind him and cleared his throat.

“Hey,” Eddie looked down at him. “What are you doing? It’s 10:30 in the morning.”

Richie gestured vaguely. “You know.”

“No, I don’t fucking know.”

Richie turned away from his phone, finally, and looked up at the other. Their first morning as a _real life couple_ and he couldn’t even spend it in the same bed.

“Jesus, fine, you don’t fucking know.”

It was like a dime stopped spinning and fell onto its side, the way the energy had changed. Of course, they knew this sort of thing would happen – Richie was prone to being moody or a little dramatic, and Eddie to being stoic or cold. This certainly wasn’t the first time they would pass by each other like ships in the night, not seeing eye to eye, but what was there to not see eye to eye about? Richie brought the joint back to his lips and took a hit, then adjusted his glasses.

“Uh… Rich…” Eddie paused and leaned against the brick wall of his home, taking in a short breath. He could be gentle. “I’m… really fucking glad you’re here, man. I’m, like… _so_ happy.”

Richie looked over his shoulder back at Eddie once again and pressed his lips into a tight line around his lit joint, then locked his phone. “Thanks, man. My flight was totally worth it. Boy, are my arms tired!” Eddie could only give him a look that doubled as fuming underneath the surface and exhaustion. “Uh… Me, too. Me, too. Who thought it would be this easy?”

“Not me.”

“Yeah, me neither.”

The silence was quick, but felt like it oozed through the cracks of the deck, running into the grass below and killing it with all its might.

“It’s not the same, is it?”

Richie paused. “What do you mean, not the same?”

“I mean… When we’re there, we’re younger. I want to feel young like that again.”

“We can feel young right now, can’t we? Come on, Eds… Tell me we can feel young again right now.”

The silence had cracked its way through the crust of the earth by now.

“Eddie.”

“It’s okay, Rich. Like, I didn’t expect it to be the same. My house isn’t some… fucking… incredible waterfront apartment. I can’t just bend you over my couch then take you out to the beach to stick our feet in the sand.” Eddie winced at the end of his sentence, just enough for Richie to notice. _Stop fucking talking stop fucking talking stop fucking talking Eddie STOP TALKING you are going to HURT SOMEONE just STOP TALKING_

“Yeah, but…” Richie took another hit from his joint before he noticed it had burned down to the filter, so instead, he crushed it on the step he had been sitting on and set it beside him. “It’s different with me. Because it’s different with you.” After all the time Richie had spent staring at the wall begging for someone to love him, maybe it wouldn’t hurt to be honest. Rejection wasn’t an option, not one he could handle. “I know you didn’t want to stay there, man. I get that. But I really fucking want it to be different.”

“… Why do you _want_ to be alone?”

“What the fuck?” Now, Richie stood, showing how hilariously short the robe he had on was. “Are you dumb?” He’d been asked similar questions a dozen times in the past few years, whether by friends or the media, and every time, it was annoying, intrusive, presumptuous. He hated people asking him that – he got defensive instantly, every single time. “Even if I did want to be alone, why the fuck should I have to justify that? That’s fucking… shitty.” The tone between them felt casual, but the words being said were far from. Every word came out almost sounding like venom, under the guise of a regular conversation.

“I guess you’re right, but I still want an answer.”

“Why the fuck are we even talking about this, man? I’m here. You should be… fucking my _brains_ out right now. I got on that plane and now I’m fucking here. To _see you_.” No answer from Eddie. “Jesus, dude, stop fucking looking at me like that.” Richie exhaled, thinking over his words for what was probably the first time in his life. “I don’t know. It’s a fucking habit. Couples, and – you know, other people, they don’t fucking realize that after a while the thought of letting anyone in is fucking impossible. Maybe it didn’t start like that, but now it’s hard to imagine anything else.” He kept his eyes on the skyline as the sun crept closer and shoved his hands into the pockets of his robe. _God,_ he was cold. The budding glow from the sun was just barely catching Eddie’s black hair, casting a halo on him. He would have one, wouldn’t he?

Eddie didn’t look away from him. “You don’t miss being… I don’t know, being close to someone? Like… intimacy?”

“Oh, right, the one fucking thing I’m terrified of the most? Great idea, Eds. Fucking stellar.”

“Richie, go fuck yourself.”

“Letting someone see the real fucking Richie Tozier is literally the scariest fucking thing ever. It’s like… we all fucking walk around pretending we’re these wholesome, perfect people, right, when in reality we’re all fucked up from someone who fucked us over. You say intimacy, and I don’t even know what that fucking means anymore, man, but for me it’s like… a threat. It’s fucking hostile.”

Eddie paused, then opened the door behind him. “You look like you’re fucking freezing, Rich.”

With a slight nod, Richie ducked past Eddie and let himself back inside, keeping his back to him.

“It’s better this way. Okay? I’m fucking happy, man. I can’t fuck this up. But if you want that… then it’s not me. Anything too fast, too soon would be me pretending to be able to offer something I just fucking… can’t offer.

“Who says you can’t you offer it?”

But Richie didn’t want to talk about it. He’d said enough. His eyes burned. It was enough.

Richie took in a deep breath, shivering but not from the cold. He hated talking about this kind of shit – Ben and Bev had probed and knew vaguely what he thought, but not to this extent. Not the fear. On their exteriors, they felt too undamaged for Richie to launch this level of truth on them, but Eddie was different. Eddie was chipped around the edges, too, and most importantly, Eddie never told him he was full of shit. Other people would always reply with something along the lines of _Oh, you just haven’t met someone special yet_ – but Richie met special people all the time.

What did those special people say behind his back? God, how fucking tragic.

“Rich,” Eddie pressed.

“Man, I don’t know what to fucking tell you. I don’t recover like other people. Other people can… fucking date one person after another, but I’m fucking stuck, man. I don’t recover. I can’t. Other people make it look so fucking easy, but it makes me fucking sick. And don’t get me wrong, I fucking _want_ to. In some perfect alternative universe. But it’s fucking impossible in this one.”

What was he supposed to do? Find some perfectly normal person and ruin their entire life? That wasn’t fair. No, he’d never do that to someone – not someone he liked. Not Eddie.

“Rich, correct me if I’m wrong,” Eddie said, now coming up close behind Richie, who still refused to turn and look at him. “But who’s asking you to pretend you know what you’re doing? We’re in our fucking fifties, dude.”

Richie didn’t answer, but finally turned to face him.

“You know what’s fucking great about dating?” Eddie asked, mildly encouraged now. “All the memories and in-jokes make you feel like you’re on top of the fucking world. Like… the time you said you have a PhD in _Eddie_. But it’s so fucking stupid, right? I mean, what’s the point of me knowing you have a scar on the bottom of your foot? What’s the point of me knowing that you got it from broken glass on a beach in Maine when you were a kid and you needed to get stitches? When’s that pop quiz coming, Rich? I mean, what’s the fucking point besides… fucking being happy knowing it?”

In the middle of a silence that went on for just a second too long, Richie spoke up.

“God, I like you so fucking much.”


	4. iv.

In their hearts, the two of them had fallen in love one hundred times since they first met. The sun set on their first kiss and they never looked back from the sunrise. The lives they were living were lives meant for two, to be shared, to be cherished. Life in silence was better than they had ever imagined, it seemed – waking up with somebody else in your bed and only offering a smile in lieu of a _good morning_ , and getting a smile in return before a quick promise of hot coffee a few moments later. Every kiss was as gentle as the last and entering a room to find the person you loved always felt like a pleasant surprise.

Mike Hanlon was in love, and that was that.

He and Bill Denbrough had met in San Junipero three years prior, in a beta stage with little to no research done on how it worked. It was fate, it seemed. Mike, born and raised in Maine, had turned a brand new _fifty-two_ the past July, but had no need for a celebration. He had seemingly hit a dead-end in his life, unable to find a turn-around so he could shift into another gear. The things in his life were quaint and kept him happy, so why did he feel so guilty when he wanted _more_? The possibility of packing up his one-bedroom home and fleeing to the coast (any coast, he wasn’t picky) was very real, but he often found himself spinning in circles until he wound up at the conclusion that he was a little too old to leave town and start new somewhere else.

Bill Denbrough, on the other hand, had finally allowed an underlying rage to simmer just below the surface before he burnt out completely. He wrote movies – well, technically, he wrote _novels_ , but after a certain amount of feature films are produced with your name stamped on them, it’s tough to call yourself a novelist. The Hollywood standard was nothing he could ever live up to, and yet here he was, allowing himself to be bought. The thought of being a _company man_ had always sent a chill down his spine. In his thirties, he felt tough as nails as he sold his first manuscript, even more superior after the second. At forty, he was asked to sign onto a movie adaption of his first novel, but he had quickly turned it down with no hesitation. But once the people he worked with in the past insisted that there was no point in pursuing a career after a certain age, he rejected that, too. After just a short time, his life had become a series of rejections, and every time felt like he was just taking a shortcut to the ending everybody expected of him.

Enter: San Junipero. Bill’s publisher had brought up the idea to him, and Mike had found it browsing online forums, digging deep for a way to properly grow his tomato plants in the summer. Disclaimer: it was impossible if it was over 80 degrees. The premise seemed simple enough to them, even on different sides of the country, but you know what they say; great minds think alike.

Neither of them liked the clubs or the beach, with a taste for sitting on the sidewalk at midnight instead. Their meeting was absolutely not coincidental, at least not on their part. The sun had risen and so had Mike on a Wednesday morning in San Junipero. In his reality, he had “plugged in”, or so it would come to be called in later years, as soon as he had opened his eyes that morning, eager for what was to come. Still inexperienced in what was still a beta, almost a trial run, Mike felt alone in a crowd of other people who were pretending to know what they were doing. He had only been there once, the day before, and spent his time making himself familiar with the sights of what was possibly the most beautiful beach town he could ever dream of. But with that in mind, if he looked hard enough, he could see the simulated clouds twitch with electricity above his head, proving the invalidity of where he truly was. In the back of his mind, he knew where he was – sitting on his couch, blissfully unaware in his locked home. The wind in San Junipero never blew, never giving him the satisfying brush of cool air, which was his first tip-off. It was only at the end of his very first day that he came to the realization that he had to forget how robotic this new world felt in order to enjoy it.

His second day, though, was more interesting. Always curious, Mike had hoped to do some prodding to find out what he could about how a simulation had found its way in a world so highly connected that on a day like that, his head might spin. But in a town with no history, how does one find his way in? The people he had asked said they were there on a paid work vacation to “test the waters” or looked at him like he was crazy, and to this day, he would still attest to the fact that he is, in fact, _not_. Spending the days wandering streets that were computer generated was not quite his idea of a good time, but anything he could want, he could find, but he never stopped picking it apart. A wireless internet café on the corner across the street from a club was a nice touch, but a trend that wouldn’t start for years after the current date that they were supposed to be living in.

Mike never considered finding _love_ here, only information. His reality wasn’t bleak or untouched, no, in fact, quite the opposite. The love he had found in Maine were from some people he would hold closely to his heart for the rest of his life, romantic or otherwise. The devotion came pouring from his chest and seemingly could not be stopped, which proved to be his downfall on more occasion than one. His incessant need to let go when things got bad, leaving himself to fend off the pain alone, was rivaled by the feeling of giving up too many times and often left him sitting alone, wondering where the hell he went wrong.

Meeting Bill Denbrough was a test. A man who let go too quickly could easily stand against a man who held on too tightly. 

It was typical, the way they met. Later on, they would tell their friends it was a cliché, for a small-town librarian and a big-name author to meet in a bookstore without any room to turn around. The shelves were packed with paperbacks that Bill had been looking for over the course of four years, only missing three. Opposite the fiction sat the scarce and picked through non-fiction, only filling one single bookcase. On any other day, a conversation wouldn’t be welcome, but in a place he wasn’t sure was completely real, Mike figured nothing could make it worse.

With tattered books tucked delicately under both of his arms, Mike had made his way down a crowded aisle and gently passed by someone else, a someone with a copy of _Dracula_ pressed practically up to their nose. As soon as Mike passed them, he turned his head over his shoulder to inspect the book that was falling apart in their hands.

“Did you know that Bram Stoker never visited Transylvania?”

The other looked up, absolutely bewildered. “W-What?”

Mike took a step back – he was broader than most but often felt inconspicuous at the wrong times. “He wrote about a place he never visited, and now the world bases all of their facts on fiction,” he nodded in the direction of the sign that hung over their head that read _FICTION._ “Literally.”

“Ah…” He was smaller, which would end up being the first thing Mike remembers remembering about him. His hair was dark and the watch on his right wrist ticked so loudly that it was comical. At the time, Mike noted that he dressed a bit like Ferris Bueller, as opposed to his own casual beach look. In a place where he could recreate himself, he had chosen tight green shorts that would catch the eye of just about anyone, and a shirt that easily showed off the muscle of his back. But he could remember now, the way they had first looked at each other, and it was all as clear to him as it was that day.

“Sorry, I don’t… I really don’t usually ruin books for strangers.”

“Th…” Dracula boy shook his head and closed his eyes, but only for a moment. “That’s okay. Stoker’s… overrated, anyway.”

After that, they hardly left each other’s sides; they did everything together, from just going to get a drink from the convenience store down the street from Bill (no longer named Dracula boy, he had graciously moved up in the world) and his new apartment to cooking noodles on the stove. The longer they stayed together felt more and more like it was meant to happen, and at that point, they didn’t know anything else but the taste of each other. It took them longer than they would have liked, approximately two and a half years after they sold their souls, so to speak, they had decided to meet face to face, blissful to the reactions of the friends they had made under the sun. The fake, glowing sun.

This was where Richie Tozier came in.

* * *

“Mike and Bill are meeting up,” Bev nonchalantly sipped the drink she and Richie were, apparently, sharing. “They told me this morning.”

The afternoon had been treating them well. They were enjoying a _lovely_ brunch of banana daquiris on a dining patio facing out to the ocean. Richie characteristically had his shirt unbuttoned all the way down to his bellybutton, and Bev had considered following suit in her almost matching silk shirt, instead deciding to tie it at the waist. They were best friends and had all but etched it in stone by now, instead showing off their bond in almost identical outfits. With Bev facing the bar and Richie facing the water, leaning back on his elbows, they were quite the sight to see at 12:45 on a Tuesday afternoon.

“That’s fucking… dumb,” Richie started, pushing the sunglasses that were too big for his face up his nose. “They barely know each other.”

“It’s been two years, Richie.”

“Two short… short years.”

Richie shifted in the barstool he sat on, spreading his legs in a lewd attempt to shift the attention somewhere else. The sun was shining on his face, but he still didn’t feel any warmth that was supposed to come along with it. Bev rolled her eyes at him and took the glass between them in her hand, then finished off their third daquiris of the day.

“You could meet someone here, and you would want to do the same. You could meet anyone.”

“Bev, I’m not here to meet someone. If I met someone here, I would want it to _stay_ here. That’s fucking dumb.”

She gave him a once-over and grimaced, shaking her head. If that’s what he wanted, who was she to judge? If Richie was there to be who he had always wanted to be, to live up to expectations that didn’t exist, he could go about his life as he pleased. He could come and go whenever he wanted, staying relatively anonymous and sneaking out the back door at midnight without someone else worrying about where he was or what he was doing. Beverly, on the other hand, _was_ there to meet people. Ben had decided early on that the San Junipero lifestyle was not for him, and she didn’t blame him. Their first experience together was quaint, but he preferred the real thing to a simulation. So, she went alone, if only for the day. Bev visited less frequently than Richie did, she noticed early on, but he had never admitted to depending on it. It seemed he was there almost every weekend, even bordering on week _days_ when he had nothing else going on.

“What about that guy from the bar?”

“Which one? You’re gonna have to go through my address book.”

Again, she rolled her eyes. It was obvious to both of them that he was avoiding the question and actively ignoring her, but she wasn’t dumb. No, far from it, and the implication insulted her. “Get real, Richie. Short guy… brown eyes… kind of acts like a neurotic prey animal? He’s here every time I’m here, and he’s always looking for you.”

“Oh, _that_ guy…” Richie mused in an effort to sound flippant, pressing his lips into a firm line. “Eddie.”

“So if _Eddie_ wanted to meet you in person, you wouldn’t do it?”

“That’s different.”

“How is that different? Honey, Mike and Bill are happy, why would you want to make them feel bad for that?”

 _Great fucking point, Marsh. Great fucking point._ Richie shrugged and sat up straight, turning his head over his shoulder to look at her. Sure, Eddie was always around, but did that mean he wanted to spend their lives together?

 _Oh_. He did. 

* * *

New York City. Richie had already stayed over for the last four weekends, but now he faced his last day before he flew back home, but he’s sure he has never wanted to stay somewhere more. Good morning, America.

Face flushed and head thrown back, neck stretching and glistening with a sheen of sweat, Eddie lets go with a cry that all but echoes in Richie’s mouth. Eddie shuddered and let his head fall back against the wall and focused on catching his breath while Richie takes in a deep breath, nudging his nose at the soft skin below Eddie’s bellybutton before tucking him back into his pajama pants. Right now, he’s so sated, he no longer notices how the granite tabletop is digging into his back.

At the sound of Eddie releasing another sigh and a content sigh, Richie smirked and got to his feet, embellished with mismatched socks, then planted a kiss to Eddie’s forehead. "See?"

"That doesn't mean I’m not going to fucking miss you," Eddie responds. Barely, because his bones feel like they’re hardly holding up and his lips are red. The words come out an unintelligible mumble with too much breath and too little enunciation, but Richie seems to understand. Scratching his exposed stomach, Richie had already turned toward the Keurig that sat neatly by the window on the counter.

"I can tell when you're stressed out. Even before you do. Your face gets to fucking red, man, it’s hilarious."

"Okay, I'm not stressed out and also that does _not_ happen.”

"Not anymore, you're not.”

Their weekend together was coming to a close, but not for nothing. Richie had specifically asked to not do anything too “touristy”, to which Eddie was quick to oblige to. Richie had no interest in seeing the Statue of Liberty or seeing Times Square, which felt refreshing compared to all of his coworkers who still swooned over the typical tourist traps. _Good for them_ , he supposed. Instead of billboard watching, they were more interested in the smaller things.

Central Park was just as nice as Richie had once thought – “nice” being an understatement. It was the middle of April, which called for a bit of bundling in New York, but they made it work. In the park, Eddie wore gloves while Richie’s large hands went uncovered. Their walk in the park was just that. As soon as the sun dared to poke out of the clouds and Eddie looked down at their hands closing up the small space between them, he shifted his eyes back up to Richie before taking his left glove off.

“Your hands are soft, Rich.”

Richie smiled, and he meant it. That warm feeling he had when they had first met was back, unmistakable. “Have you ever seen those lotion gloves that you’re supposed to fall asleep in? They moisturize your hands and shit.”

“Uh… I’m familiar.”

“I have those.”

Eddie snorted, and shoved Richie slightly to the side with his shoulder. “No, you don’t.”

“Yeah, dude, I do,” Richie’s voice was dripping with sarcasm and his smile grew wider. “God, tormenting you is my favorite fucking thing to do.”

Eddie moved to now lace his fingers in between Richie’s and for a minute, he didn’t say anything. They had been spending their weekends together in and out of reality, something that most couples couldn’t say. Through all of that, Eddie was sure he preferred the real thing, the real sun, the real kisses. But in all the things he loved more, he was tired now. He was older. Things were not the same, and as much as he wanted them to be, it was hard to deny.

“Can we sit down?” Eddie had already veered toward one of the benches that lined the walkway they ventured down, brushing his thumb over Richie’s. He was ready to make decisions and to make them firmly, and that was one thing Richie _loved_. They sat close together, their knees bumping against each other in unison. “I’m… really fucking glad you’re here, Rich. With me.”

Richie pushed his glasses up his nose and shrugged nonchalantly, darting his eyes around the rest of the park. The coffee they’d picked up just before taking a stroll was saturating his brain – which explained why his leg was bouncing. He didn’t even notice. “Yeah, man, New York isn’t as bad as I thought,” he lied, then gave his attention back to Eddie, who was staring intently at him. “You should come to Chicago.”

“I love you.”

Richie swallowed. Right in the middle of Central Park? “You love who?”

Eddie pressed his lips into a firm line, then pulled his hand away from the tight grip Richie had on it. Ouch. “You heard me the first time and I know you did.”

The happiest moment of Richie’s entire life was on his tenth birthday when his parents bought him a bike and allowed him to gorge himself on fast food. That day, Richie had eaten three servings of fries, four cheeseburgers, two milkshakes, and just one cookie. That day, he tried to express how thankful he was for his parents letting him eat all of it, citing it as the best day ever, and it was. Not even 24 hour later, he puked for hours and swore of fast food… then asked for the same thing on his next birthday.

No matter the sickness, that was still, in his book, the best day ever. That is, until this moment.

Richie turned his head to look back at Eddie, a soft shade of pink creeping up his neck and past the collar of his jacket that he had zipped up all the way. “Say it again.”

Now, Eddie took all the time he needed before reaching up to push a white stripe of hair away from Richie’s forehead with his gloved hand. This was _it_ – his chance to run and jump off the cliff, feet first into the very same water he couldn’t see in. With another squeeze of Richie’s hand, Eddie leaned up _just_ slightly, then spoke up.

“I fucking love you.”

 _That_ is what he needed to hear. They were closer together now, close enough for the two of them to meet in the middle for a kiss. “You fucking love me?” Eddie tasted like stale coffee. Eddie might say that in return, Richie tasted a little like the bagel they split an hour ago. “What are you, gay?”

He couldn’t react quickly enough and was shoved once again by the mighty shoulder of Kaspbrak, but retaliated by kissing him _again,_ like he could get him to say it over and over again. _I love you, I love you. I love you._ Once they had pulled away, Eddie was caught licking his lips and stumbling over his words, but not before Richie could move his hand to Eddie’s knee.

“I… really love you, Eddie. It kind of fucking scares me but in this way that makes me, like, undeniably horny.”

Eddie rolled his eyes before taking a much-needed pause. His internal clock ticked loudly between his ears, just to the point where he felt like his head might explode if he kept in what he was thinking for longer than thirty seconds. “Rich, it feels like I’m alive. Every fucking day. Every fucking day when I wake up with you, it’s better than the last. Like… _fuck_ , Rich. Fuck.”

Before he could say anything else, Richie brought their hands up between them and pressed a kiss to Eddie’s knuckles. “I guess life isn’t so bad after all.”

* * *

Eddie wasn’t sure if it was the weekends he spent in Chicago or the times he got caught browsing Google for wedding bands, but he was happy. Not that fake happy bullshit, the kind that really gets under the skin of people, but _really_ happy. This time, it was the kind of happy that made him want to act like a fourteen year old. Almost all of his life had been spent not believing in love, and now, he had a reason to. The vision of love was untraditional, to put it simply. He had expected to be held at arm’s length; in the same way he had expected there to be conditions to earning somebody’s love. The less he could care about anyone else, the better.

The first year they lived together, they holed up in Eddie’s tiny four-bedroom home in New York. The specific feeling of being a bull in a china shop came to Richie like a smack in the face and it didn’t go away until they moved to Los Angeles, but that wouldn’t be for another two years. In New York, they were all but packed like sardines in their tiny bedroom, cooking in their tiny kitchen, and eating in their tiny living room. Life didn’t change. Richie had toyed with the idea of retirement, but never committed, claiming he loved the industry too much. The two of them would much rather die than stop moving; giving up time wasn’t an option. Time passed.

San Junipero had since lost its touch. They lived for reality now, and while the prospect of weaving in and out of it had given them the freedom they desired, now it was well within their reach. The last time they visited together had never been under the guise of being the last time. Richie would bring it up every weekend leading up to it as they grew older, _together_ , but his words often fell on deaf ears. Eddie supposed they didn’t need that anymore, and that what they had was enough. More often than not, he took it personally and flipped the switch, accusing Richie of not loving him for who he is and wanting that fake version of themselves in a fake city.

Often, it was a sensitive topic. Richie would ask why they didn’t have fun anymore, and Eddie would play defensive and put that pesky wall up around his entire body. By now, Richie was skilled in the art of taking a pickaxe and tear it down as best he could. Eddie’s defense system was typical: his face got red and that vein in his forehead threatened to burst, but the expletives coming from someone of his stature was a sight to see. In the first few months of their relationship, Richie couldn’t help but laugh at the way he threw fits like they were rocks being hurled by children.

By the time they had moved to Los Angeles, Eddie had retired and Richie was no longer writing for television, instead perfectly content with playing house. The way they decorated was much different than they might have expected – Richie was a fan of basic furniture, whereas Eddie opted for something a little more modern. As one could imagine, it turned out a disaster, but good for them, they had told themselves, they decorated their first home together at the ripe age of fifty-nine. While still small, it had the things they liked the most, whether it was their state-of-the-art coffee maker or the little boots they put on the dogs they had brought home. Cheryl and Antoni, a pomeranian and a chihuahua respectively, had no interest in walking in the rain, but neither did Richie or Eddie. ( _“Why don’t you just put her raincoat on?” “Dude, I don’t know what the fuck to tell you. She just likes little bows on her ears.”_ )

The one thing they could decide on in terms of decoration was a photo of them during Richie’s first visit to New York, and even then, it seemed far away, almost lost to time. The first night they had spent in their brand new home, _their_ house, was full of critique until Richie had made a fair point about wanting to hang a few pictures here and there, so why not that one from the best April of his life?

Richie had nodded, his eyes looking over photos Eddie had put up of his family. Mostly people he didn’t know, he squinted and shook his head. “Where am I?”

The question was almost lost on Eddie, who had been faithful to unpacking for the past few days, but still he looked up from the box he was elbow-deep in. “What do you mean, _where are you_? We’re in LA, you fucking –“

“In the _pictures_ , dumbass.”

“Oh,” Eddie swallowed, then looked back down into the cardboard box full of pot-holders and oven mitts. “Just… you?”

Not the response Richie was looking for, but a positive response nonetheless. “Maybe us,” he shrugged. “If that’s not too gay for you.”

Now _that_ got a blush out of Eddie. He took a break from digging through fabric to look up at Richie, who still stood with his back to him. His shoulders flexed underneath the thin fabric of his shirt as he crossed his arms over his broad chest.

“Just one?” Once Eddie spoke, Richie turned now, looking him in the eye. Behind it was a certain… glimmer? Hope? Something that Eddie couldn’t _quite_ put his finger on. He stood and took the few short steps to stand in front of Richie and moved up for a kiss but wound up pressing his lips against the corner of Richie’s mouth. “I want to look at you when you’re not around.”

“Really? Damn,” Richie leaned closer to him for another kiss, now successful, and moved his hand to the back of Eddie’s head to keep him steady. “I fucking love you, man. You’re like my wife, or something.”

“Uh, no _way_ , _you_ would be _my_ wife.”

“Gross, dude, just because I fucking bottom doesn’t mean I’m a _woman_. That’s sexist.”

Eddie broke away and rolled his eyes, now turning back to the half-empty cardboard box he was tending to. “You have a fucking standup segment about how women can’t drive, asshole.”

“In my defense, that was 30 years ago and I was being ironic.”

“Right, ironic sexism is _so_ fucking cool.”

An argument like that could go on for hours, and usually did. Eddie would say the things he _wanted_ to do: break his neck, scream so loud that his head would fall out, storm out, but he never did. Richie would mock him and dare him to do something stupid. They always ended with Eddie snarling some insult that was supposed to cut deep, but never did, and it was then that he would feel guilty. The venom from his words all but dripped from his teeth when Richie told him he was being a _fucking asshole_ and to knock it off, but he always did as he was told. Obedience in a relationship would be something he would have to unlearn in due time.

When the clock turned to midnight on Eddie Kaspbrak’s 63rd birthday, he was woken up with a kiss against his forehead. Still getting used to the heat in California, he found that Los Angeles wasn’t too bad in September. With Richie’s heavy arm draped over his stomach and his nose against his ear, the only thing he could focus on were Richie’s heavy, steady breaths against him.

“Do you remember when you asked me to marry you? On the beach?” Richie’s voice came out lower than his natural register, his eyes staying closed.

Eddie took a second, _just_ a second to consider his words. The feeling of their bedroom was one he would not and could not ever forget, with the air hanging heavy between them and the room illuminating itself with blue light from the outside world. “In town, right? You wore that stupid shirt.”

“That was my favorite shirt,” Richie smiled against Eddie’s hairline, now dragging his big, warm hand against the hair that covered Eddie’s stomach. “It was hot.”

“It was from Bass Pro Shop.”

“Shut up, okay? Do you remember or not?”

He remembered that it was almost midnight, and the only thing he could see was Richie and the moon behind him. It was cold as _hell_ outside, but Richie had dragged him out to get his toes in the sand. He remembered that Richie said that he knew he loved the beach, and he remembered feeling like he was going to fall in love all over again. He had never wanted to marry someone that badly.

They had been alone all day, sticking together for the past few hours. It was typical of them to spend a weekend like that, even under the strict stipulations they were dealing with. If they wanted it, they had it. On a night like that, it was impossible not to want something that felt within reach. Richie had made quite the show trying to impress Eddie for the five-hundredth time since they’d met by digging their initials in the beach with his foot, spelling out a large _R + E_ that someone could see from space.

“Yeah, Rich. I remember.”

“Happy birthday, man.”

Eddie turned his head toward the other, trying to read him in the dark. “Thanks.”

The last few birthdays they had spent together were uneventful; Richie’s last birthday consisted of being taken to physical therapy for his slipped disc, and before that, all Eddie had asked for the year before was a nice dinner and to go to bed early. This birthday, however, had been started off new, feeling like love was alive, but it had never died.

“Hey, you know…” Richie started, slowly. “I think we could make it work if we got married… in town.”

Eddie stayed silent.

“Think about it… we would be there for the rest of our fucking _lives,_ man. You and me, just how we wanted. We can wait it out, but… you know, Mike and Bill are doing it.”

Mike and Bill. Eddie was fucking tired of hearing about what Mike and Bill were doing.

“You don’t want to marry me in this lifetime? Just the next?”

Even in the dark, the bitterness of his words was apparent. His clock told him it was 12:03 in the morning. He would have to be awake in a few hours to take the dogs on a run.

“No, it’s not like that.”

“Can I just… close my eyes and go back to sleep?”

Richie took in an uncomfortable breath. If he knew how this would have played out, he would have brought it up later. It wasn’t an attempt to compare them to others, or even to tell him how they could live together, but _shit_ , did it sound like it. As the breath came from his lungs, he moved away from Eddie and onto his back, putting his hands behind his head. “Yeah, sorry. Shit. Sorry.”

He turned onto his side.

* * *

Los Angeles in the early hours of the morning was a place Eddie decided he would love to experience every day of his life. The way he would wake was peaceful, with orange light filling their bedroom. _Ah,_ he thought, almost on cue, just about every morning. _There’s the sun._ His coffee tasted better when he was alone.

On a particular morning, though, Eddie had caught himself whistling as he passed by the fridge and went straight for the Keurig, and heard a familiar laugh from behind him. There stood Richie, bound in pinstriped boxers and nothing else but the white slippers on his feet. He wasn’t getting any younger, but neither was Eddie. The two of them looked each other up and down, then shared a smile.

“Happy birthday,” Richie offered, crossing over to Eddie, who now stood with his back against their granite counter. “Sorry I was a dick last night. Truce?”

Eddie shook his head, but still a smile remained on his face. “Yeah, I’ll forgive, but never forget.”

Richie nodded in agreement before he moved his arm around Eddie’s back. They kissed, and it felt like they were falling in love all over again.

* * *

If it weren’t for Richie’s need to get his way, Eddie would have never considered using new technology to live on after he was _gone_. San Junipero used a cloud system and it was easy, but the way it had been explained to them was harsh and felt oddly impersonal. It had freaked him out, plain and simple. Richie compared it to Walt Disney getting his head cryogenically frozen and hidden in a Disneyland ride, Eddie thought of it as a dying wish. They had lived happy and then they would die happy was what they had been told, but Eddie still didn’t believe it. _Typical Kaspbrak_ , he’d thought. _Fucking idiot._ To them, it wasn’t the next step, it was the last step.

Richie Tozier died on a Thursday. He wouldn’t want anyone to cry over him, but it’s all Eddie knew.

He cried until he his eyes stung and ran out of tears. The only way he was able to grieve was by crying; when he sobbed, his entire body shook, and by the time he had looked in the mirror, his eyes had adopted dark spots laying underneath them, the rest of him pale. Ghastly.

Eddie Kaspbrak died on the following Sunday. The doctors chalked it up to heartbreak.

* * *

To them, the sun felt brighter. Now, they could feel it. The heat was unmatched – it was so _real_. It wasn’t like New York, where the heat was sweltering and wet in the summer, and they could hardly breathe while passing by other people. It wasn’t like Chicago heat, which made them both sweat from head-to-toe. The kind of heat in San Junipero had no business being compared to anything else in the world, they had come to realize. If they tried, they would fail.

1990 seemed to be their sweet spot, and their friends had joined them out of sheer curiosity – or pity. They were a little older by the time they returned to the beach, closer to 27 by then. Richie had traded his open button-ups for t-shirts with holes in them, advertising a special at the auto parts store or spouting some kind of Walmart rhetoric. Eddie ditched his blazers and jeans, opting for shorts that hugged his thighs and a thick flannel over his tank tops. He had opted for longer hair now, hair that had turned darker with age. 26 was good enough for him, he figured. Eddie had told Richie a thousand and one times that he looked _great_ at 27, with long curls that he tucked behind his ears, where he kept a different earring hidden, now a stud instead of the typical jewelry that dangled from his cartilage.

The convertible that Richie had was one that he swore to, but if Eddie asked him any question pertaining to how it _ran_ , he would be the first to go blank. It was pretty, and that was what he cared about. On good days, they sped down the street with the top down and Richie pushing Eddie to stand up on his seat and scream. He never wanted to, until the day he did.

It was real. He felt real.


End file.
